A Murder in Norfolk
by Lancer47
Summary: NCIS is called to solve a murder at a Navy Base in Norfolk, Virginia. But someone starts butting in on the case, causing Gibbs a great deal of irritation. Who are these people? How will Gibbs deal?
1. Chapter 1

_Buffy, the Vampire Slayer _

_In a Crossover Fan Fiction with _

_NCIS_

**A Murder in Norfolk**

by STFarnham

Lancer47

_NOTES:  
This story is neither sequel nor prequel to _Buffy Goes to Washington_, it's completely unconnected, even though I used some of the same conventions and characters. Also, Riley is a Marine. I know, I know, there were several BtVS episodes that clearly defined him as Army, but ever since he told Faith-in-Buffy to close the door because 'he didn't want a bunch of marines watching him boink his girlfriend' (or words to that effect), I haven't been able to think think of him as anything but a Marine. Of course it doesn't help that they didn't use their military ranks, which was clearly an excuse to ignore the Posse Comitatus Act of 1878. _

_Part One is told entirely from the viewpoint of the NCIS agents, who are not aware of anything supernatural. Because Slayers, Watchers, and friends of same do not publicize their world, the various clues will have some meanings that elude the NCIS. Most of the clues should be obvious to any readers familiar with Buffy. _

_Disclaimer: I'm playing on other people's turf for fun but not profit._

_Rating: PG-15 (T) for a few four letter words and descriptions of violence._

**Chapter 1**

They had witnessed the aftermath of horrific crimes, they had seen bloodier sights, they had all seen bodies more mutilated than this one, they had all seen the ghastly results of emotions run wild and uncontrolled. But those memories still hadn't prepared them for this.

"_Dafook muzarut,"_ said Ziva, with feeling.

"Un-freakin'-believable!" said Tony.

Gibbs shook his head mournfully.

McGee couldn't say anything.

Dr. Mallard contemplated the corpse silently.

They were in Norfolk, Virginia, at the U. S. Navy's Little Creek Amphibious Base, standing at the back of concrete warehouse. They were gazing at a sixteen year old dead girl who had been run through with a sword. The sword was still stuck through her chest, right through her ribcage and heart, and out her back and into the concrete wall of the building, leaving her body suspended by the sword alone, as if she were an insect skewered in a display case.

"How, uh, how do you suppose she got impaled to a wall nine feet above the ground?" asked McGee.

"And how do you suppose that someone was able to drive that sword powerfully enough to penetrate concrete?" asked Ziva.

Gibbs shook his head some more and said, "That's what we're paid to find out." He looked at the ground and added, "There's plenty of good tracks, get plaster impressions of everything here." He swept his arm from left to right and then behind him to indicate where he wanted impressions taken.

A battleship-gray pickup truck pulled up outside of the crime scene tape. A weatherbeaten Navy CPO heaved himself out of the truck and ducked under the tape.

Gibbs said, "Hey, Chief Brandt, long time no see."

"Hey Gunny," he replied, "I wish it were under better fuckin' circumstances."

"Yeah." They both stared bleakly at the dead girl.

"So Gunny, you still married?"

"Naw, it's been a few years."

"What was that, number four?"

"Five. You?"

"Oh, CINCHOUSE has stuck around for twenty years, think I'll keep her."

"Guys," said Gibbs, "this is Master Chief Brandt, the Base Master-at-Arms. He's in charge of the the Little Creek Police Precinct."

The other agents exchanged greetings.

"You know who she is, Chief?" asked DiNozzo.

"Fuck yeah, I've seen her around, she's Lilly Hornsby, she lives, er, lived, on base with her parents. Her father is Lt. Commander Hornsby, the Executive fucking Officer of the USS Gripper ARS-55, her mom's a nurse at the Boone Clinic on base. This is gonna fuckin' ruin 'em."

"You haven't told them yet, have you?" Gibbs asked, a little sharply.

"No. I was waiting for you NCIS wienies—I don't want to get _my_ ass caught in a legal fuckin' bight."

"How come NCIS Little Creek isn't here? This is their backyard after all," asked DiNozzo.

"Nearly every damn NCIS agent between Washington and Atlanta are on a big investigation over in Portsmouth where some crazy bastard went on a killing spree yesterday. We'd be there too, but we got called for this one at the last minute. The few who aren't there are at a conference back in Washington, where we'd be if we weren't here," said Gibbs.

Ziva frowned and said sarcastically, "Well, as sorry as I am that we missed out on what I am sure is an exciting and vital law enforcement conference, it sure sounds like a bureaucratic mixup that we're here and the people who should be here are there."

"Hey," said the Chief, "that's the fuckin' Navy for ya. Whatta ya gonna do?"

"OK, nows as good a time as any to go find Commander Hornsby and break the news I s'ppose," said Gibbs.

The Chief pointed across the baseball diamond and parking lots towards the channel from Chesapeake Bay and said, "There's the Gripper coming in now. She was out in the bay doing some trials when their brand fuckin' new SPS-73 surface radar went tits up, 'course it was after yesterday's fog rolled in, so they had to drop anchor and stay out all night. I guess the Captain didn't trust comin' in on GPS alone—the fuckin' channel's only a hundred yards wide at the deep parts—so some poor bastard had to ring the fuckin' ship's bell every two minutes. Come near to drove me crazy hearin' it from two miles away, it musta felt like a royal cluster-fuck to the poor bastards on board. It'll be another fuckin' hour before they secure from Sea and Anchor Detail, and I imagine the XO won't be able to get away until late tonight, and he'll be fuckin' pissed as hell when he gets home. Then we'll fuckin' destroy 'em with this. Poor godamned fucker, not a good day for him, nope not a good day atall, and he just don't fuckin' know it yet."

"No Chief, we'll meet the ship at the pier, talk to the captain, then the XO, then escort him home to talk to his wife." Gibbs sighed deeply and continued, "You know, this part of the job just gets worse every time I have to do it." He turned to DiNozzo and said, "You and Ziva start canvassing while McGee processes the scene with Palmer, I'll join you later. And set up crime scene tape further out, I don't want sightseers since we can't cut her down before we've finished with the plaster casts. Chief, can you get some more guys out here for a little crowd control?"

"Sure Gunny," he said as they headed towards the truck.

As they drove off, Ziva asked Tony, "What the hell is CINCHOUSE?"

Tony laughed and said, "Can't say I ever heard of CINCHOUSE before, but I'd guess it must be Commander-In-Chief-House, which would be his wife of course."

"Oh," answered Ziva, utterly uncertain whether she should be annoyed or not. "And the badge that said FMF?"

"Fleet Marine Force support specialist. Probably how he knows Gibbs."

"So what's an FMF actually do?"

"Other than showing Marines where to stow their guns and duffel bags I don't really know."

"Hah!" said Ziva, "you memorized the Bluejackets Manual but don't really know shit about the Navy, right?"

"Kind of in between, really. I've picked up a lot in the last few years, more'n you, that's fer sure."

"OK oh wise one, what did the Chief mean about getting his ass caught in a bite?"

"That's an easy one Ziva. A bight is loop of rope, except they don't call it that in the Navy, they insist that it's _line_. So, if some poor sailer happens to be standing in a bight when an anchor or something is let go, he gets caught, jerked along the deck, pulled through the hawse-pipe and squished down to a uniform eight inch diameter in a few seconds, and probably ripped to pieces at the same. I imagine you'd be dead so fast you wouldn't even be aware of what happened."(1)

"Mossad is starting to sound safer to me all the time," Ziva replied with an involuntary shiver as she gazed down at the harbor where a ship was preparing to tie up to the pier.

**Chapter Two**

"Hi, are you Mrs. Campbell? I'm Special Agent Tony DiNozzo of the NCIS."

"Yes, that's me. What can I do for you?"

"Do you know the girl from next door, Lilly Hornsby?"

"Why yes, what has that little hooligan done now?"

"She's been in an accident," said Tony.

"Oh dear, I hope she isn't too badly hurt."

"It was fatal."

"Oh my god, that poor girl, poor Patsy, I'll have to bake her some bread, excuse me, I need to call the other girls and ..."

"Before you go," Tony got a word in edgewise, "would you mind answering some questions?"

"Oh my, yes. What happened anyway?"

"It's still under investigation."

"Oh dear oh dear. Would you like to come in? I'll make coffee Agent Donut."

"That's Agent DiNozzo. Thanks, but coffee isn't necessary Mrs. Campbell."

They sat in the living room and Tony asked, "Have you seen anything unusual next door recently?"

"What do you mean by unusual?"

"Anything that you might remark on to your friends. Anything out of the ordinary, especially anything concerning Lilly."

"Well Agent Di-nacho, there was that one-eyed man."

"One-eyed man?" Tony repeated skeptically, "and that's Agent DiNozzo.".

"Yes, he was a handsome young man, he wore a dark brown jacket that set off his leather eyepatch nicely, Calvin Klein Jeans and a dress shirt. I can't remember the color of his shirt, but he was a little overdue for a haircut."

"Yes, thats very good, where did you see him?"

"I saw them together at school—I teach social studies—but I didn't think anything of it since he had a visitor's pass."

"And what school would that be?"

"The John F. Kennedy High School, it's off base, we have an elementary school on base, but the kids have to go to the local junior high and high schools."

"I see. Where did you see this one-eyed man?"

"Oh, he and Lilly were sitting at one of the picnic tables. I noticed particularly because of the eyepatch, of course. Naturally, strange men on school grounds also draw my attention, but they were sitting across from each other, in full view of the front office and they were simply talking about something, personal business perhaps. When I saw the pass clipped to his jacket, I continued on. It seemed above board. Oh, now I remember, his shirt was a perfectly lovely shade of light blue with darker impressions of forest leaves."

"And when was this?"

"What?"

"When did you see this one-eyed man with Lilly?"

"Oh," she replied, "about a month or two ago, I think."

"And did you see him again?"

"No, oh wait, yes. I noticed him at the base gym a day or two later, and Lilly was there too, and another girl was with them. But I just had a brief glimpse of them as they went in. Do you suppose they were up to no good at the gym?"

"I doubt it. But we will follow up. Was there anything else? You said she was a 'little hooligan'. Why did you say that?"

"Oh, I would never speak ill of the dead. Please ignore my comment, it wasn't anything important."

"Now Mrs. Campbell, this is a homicide investigation, if you have any information that could help us, it is your duty to tell me."

"Homicide? She was murdered? Oh that poor girl, that poor family."

"Perhaps you shouldn't mention that to anyone else for a day or two. But in light of that, do you have anything else to add?"

"Well Agent Nacho, since you put it that way. She was a very nice girl, polite, always a good word, until about three months ago. Then I started to see her outside at odd hours of the night. I don't always sleep well at my age, so I get up and have some warm milk, or perhaps a little sip of Sherry, over by the window overlooking my back yard. I sometimes see wild animals going about their business. You know we actually have deer here in Norfolk? Of course seabirds are common, and I've seen foxes, both gray and red..."

Tony interrupted her, "Yes, the animals are very interesting but could you get back to Ms. Hornsby?"

"Oh, yes. Well, I would often see her sneaking across the back yard, jumping over the irrigation ditch out back, going into that patch of woods at the edge of the development heading over to the nature trail. Several times I saw her meet another girl over there. God only knows what they were up to."

"And that's why you thought she was a hooligan? Because she was sneaking out at night?"

"Yes of course, no proper young lady would be caught dead out in the woods at night." A moment later she frowned at her unfortunate choice of words.

"She was a teenager, Mrs. Campbell, such behavior is not completely unheard of."

She sniffed, "Not in my day, I assure you, and even if it did happen, surely not every night for months on end!"

"Well, the frequency does seem unusual. Is there anything else you'd like to add?"

"I can't think of anything."

"OK, here's my card. Call me if you should think of anything at all."

--- ---

"Ah, Ms. David is it?" asked Chief Brandt.

"It's Agent Ziva David."

"Yes ma'am, well, this is Sam McWilliams, one of our Little Creek Police officers seconded from the DoD. He saw something you should hear. Shall we have a seat in my office?"

"Sure."

After they sat down, Ziva asked, "So, what do you have for me?"

"Well ma'am, about three weeks ago I was approaching the base exchange when I noticed young Miss Hornsby walking with a man wearing an eyepatch and another young woman."

"What time was this?"

"About 2130 hours, I have the date in my logbook, I'll get it."

"Later, describe this man for me please."

"Mid twenties, jeans and a brown jacket, leather eyepatch, brown hair, clean shaved, about six foot, dark shoes, Caucasian, maybe one-niner-zero pounds. He seemed physically fit, but that's just a guess."

"And the young woman?"

"I didn't get a good look at her, she was behind the others, but she was a redhead, shorter than the man, taller than Lilly. That's about all I could see of her."

"Good, now how about Lilly?"

"She was wearing jeans and a sweater. She appeared happy, sort of bouncing along the sidewalk with plenty of energy. It seemed like she was urging the others to hurry up. I nearly stopped to see what they were up to because while their presence and actions looked reasonably normal, they weren't completely innocent."

"How could you tell?" asked Ziva.

"Oh, you know, when you've been doin' this for awhile you get a feel for people. People doing crime are usually furtive, especially when they are trying hard not to be. These three were out for more than a walk, but they weren't furtive and none of them were touching each other or leaning in the way lovers do, and this was near the base exchange and theater, so there were plenty of legitimate reasons to be there and no reason for me to stop. He could have been an uncle, or maybe a friend of the family by the way he was acting."

"So what was unusual about them?"

"All three seemed unusually watchful. They walked along the sidewalk in the middle of the base as if they expected to be attacked at any moment. Well, I thought it was my imagination, and continued on—I wish I had stopped now.

"If it's worth anything, I doubt it would've made any difference if you had stopped, but thank you, and thanks for noting the details. Get me the exact date and I'll be on my way."

**Chapter Three**

A day later they were back at the NCIS office. Ziva, McGee, and Tony were all industriously working at their respective desks under the watchful eye of Jethro Gibbs. McGee broke the silence with an excited curse, "Holy freakin' hell!"

"What is it McGee?" asked Gibbs.

"Look at this boss!" McGee was practically frothing with anger as he pointed to his monitor.

Gibbs stared over McGee's shoulder and said, "Those are the crime scene photos, right?"

"They've been posted to the net!"

"What? What are you looking at? And how did you find them?" asked Gibbs.

"I did a search for Lilly Hornsby and I found a thread on the forum for retired NCIS, DCIS, DSS, CID, and whole lot of other agencies. I followed a link to this page, on MySpace dot com, of all places. Worse, these pictures are not our crime scene shots, these were taken around sunrise, several hours before she was discovered. As you can see the fog hadn't lifted yet in these shots."

McGee heard an odd noise and turned sharply to look at Gibbs and asked, "Boss, did you just growl?"

"Yes. Find out who the hell put those pictures up."

"So far, all I got was somebody named Drusilla, no last name. Look here, it says: _Likes -- midnight walks in cemeteries, hot blooded young studs, dolls, jasmine, Miss Edith, and dancing under the moon with red lips. Dislikes – suntan and spikes._ There's also some incomprehensible poetry and more pictures, including one which claims to be this Drusilla and another woman named Darla. Oddly, she refers to Darla as both her grandmother and her child. There's no address, but she mentions Virginia. Also Brazil and California, so there's no telling where she is."

"Get a warrant and get over to your Space-dot-com people, see what you can find," ordered Gibbs, "oh, and somebody find out the exact time the fog lifted in Norfolk."

"Sure boss. But that's MySpace."

"That's what I said, your Space."

Tony asked, "Who's on first?"

"DiNozzo!" yelled Gibbs across the eight foot space, "what have you found on those suspicious characters?"

"The neighbors saw the one-eyed man several times over the previous three months, but the parents never saw him or any of his female companions, with one exception. We found them on security tapes from the front gate, his name is Alexander Harris. There were several different women with him on different occasions, we haven't identified any of them yet. The one girl that the parents recognize they thought was a school friend, they thought she was about the same age as Lilly, although they agree she could have been a year or two older."

Gibbs impatiently interrupted, "Records? Address?"

"He works at a private boarding school near Cleveland, Ohio called the Sunnydale Memorial School for Girls; he's listed on the School's website as the Facilities Manager, so what he was doing here is anybody's guess. Police records list him here and there as a witness in a number of violent incidents dating back to his early teen years in California, but he was never charged with anything that I could find. In fact, reading the police reports between the lines, I doubt that he was ever seriously suspected of any serious crime himself, but he may have known more than he said."

Gibbs frowned for a moment and said, "Call him, see if he'll come by for an interview. If not, we'll have to go see him. His female companions probably came from the school, so see if he volunteers their names. Oh yeah, and print out that whole website, five copies, one set to each of us and one to Abby."

--- ---

"Geez, I wish somebody would introduce Gibbs to the twenty-first century," said Abby with disgust as she flipped through a pile of paper, "why didn't you just forward the URL to me McGee? Like I need more dead trees down here."

"Gibbs told me to do it this way, anyway, the URL is on each page."

Abby glared at McGee.

"Of course, you know that already. I guess I'll leave you to it."

"Wait McGee, do you want any of my results yet?"

"Oh, uh sure Abbey. What have you got?"

"This sword, it was made in the Middle Ages, I believe in Italy. The workmanship is wonderful, although the lack of decoration makes it look cheaper than it really is. This is a museum piece, but I doubt it's ever seen the inside of a museum unless somebody was robbing it. I think it has seen use for centuries, there are flecks of old blood caught in the cracks between the pommel and the guard that are older than me. It's possible that I'll be able to trace the ownership, but I wouldn't hold my breath."

"That's it?"

"Yep, that's it. I'll have some prelim results on the impressions this afternoon. Now get out of here!"

--- ---

"Okee dokee," said Abby to the assembled crew, "now what I have here is the computer analysis of the ground impressions. To begin with, the soil consists of clay and organic particles aggregated into plates and granules, along with varying percentages of humus and moisture. The moisture content and granularity is consistent with fog and light drizzle, which is exactly what the weather was starting yesterday afternoon and continuing through the night in Norfolk. The soil itself is consistent with typical soils in and around Little Creek. It is convenient that the moisture, clay content, and soil structure were nearly perfect for taking impressions, so I was able to get a very good simulation for what may have happened. But I may need someone to run down there and do a hardness test at the ground for me, sort of like a Rockwell or Brinell but for soils, in order to refine my reconstruction."

As Abbey turned to her computer, her short dress swirled outward in an arresting manner that highlighted her legs. She started to type some commands while she continued to talk, "So, I was able to estimate the weights required to make these impressions. Naturally, I also compared the footprints of known persons, that is all of you, to the unknown samples and the test impressions with known weights, anyway, I see you're all half asleep now so on with the demo."

On the large screen above Abbey, a computer generated graphic of the crime scene popped up. It was lacking in textures and the lighting was flat, but the main components were there: the building, bushes and trees, a picnic table, and a sword-wielding perpetrator with his victim. As well as the very carefully modeled ground, complete with all the footprints, vegetation, and other odd impressions.

"Now," Abbey lectured while pointing at the static display, "you will note the relative size difference of the figures: the girl weighed ninety-five pounds and was four foot eleven. At fifteen, she had not come into her full height or weight yet. It was easy to compare her footprints and because she was of known weight, it was elementary to calculate the force with which she was leaping about. Her opponent's weight is not known, but can only be inferred from the impressions he left—he had very big feet and is pretty heavy, but he still managed to jump around athletically. There are some odd impressions of something I can't quite identify, he was carrying a rope or a whip or something that occasionally touched the ground behind him—almost like a tail which is impossible of course—but keep an eye out for something like that as you investigate. Now this computer generated animation is, well, uh, unusual. It looks more like a cartoon than reality, but this is what my calculations say. That's not to say I won't be going over the figures again, and again, and double checking and refining every conclusion. But, that said, here are the preliminary results."

Abbey punched a button and the animation started. First they saw a tall figure running towards the building, behind him was the girl, chasing him and swinging a sword, the very same sword that was later found pinning her to the wall.

Gibbs said, "Hold it, stop! Are you kidding me Abbey? You think the victim was chasing the perpetrator? What makes you think that?"

Abbey stopped the animation and said, "Because her footprints are overlaid on top of his, Gibbs, the tracks are quite clear."

Tony added, "Yeah boss, it looked that way at the scene to the naked eye, as unbelievable as it sounds."

"And besides," added Ziva, "if you saw some crazy person running at you with a sword, wouldn't you run? Even if the sword-wielder were less than half your size? Unless you had a gun, of course. Swords are capable of causing terrible injuries, far worse than a bullet or even a knife."

Gibbs grunted and said, "Hell, so now when we finally find this guy he's gonna start screaming self-defense! We're gonna look like absolute fools, especially if his defense lawyer sees this."

"And of course, we are legally obligated to make sure the defense does see this."

"Ah, to hell with it," he muttered, "we have to catch him first. Continue Abbey."

Abbey started the program again. They watched as the perpetrator jumped over the sword, which the girl had swung towards his legs, and they saw the girl make some odd motions and swings in a direction opposite of the man.

Abbey stopped the motion and interjected, "OK, the animation is inconclusive here because, as you know, a computer is a totally obedient moron, and I haven't made enough sense of the evidence for this slice of the timeline to be able to tell the computer what to do. Through here the footsteps don't make sense, it's almost as if there were a third person present, but if so that person stayed on the sidewalk. There are a few anomalous impressions that could be someone else, but I don't know for sure. So there's some guesswork here. But we quickly get back to what I believe I can prove." And she pushed a button on her keyboard.

The agents watched as the fight progressed, concluding with the girl losing her sword to her foe and getting run through and pinned to the wall after some prodigious, almost cartoonish leaps.

Abbey said, "And that's all folks! At least so far. I know that some of this reconstruction is not something that I would care to defend in court, yet, but I can assure you that the math fits, we know which impressions are hers, we know which are his. And we know how much she weighed and can calculate how hard she had to hit the ground. We have several impressions of her sword slashing the ground, so we know she was armed with it, and we know how she was standing in relationship to him every step of the way, well every step from the parking lot anyway. However, this reconstruction is not complete, once I have factored in all the new evidence that you all are collecting for me, my conclusions may change."

"What new evidence?" Gibbs asked grumpily.

"I don't know Gibbs, you haven't got it yet, but we're missing something, I just wish I knew what it was," said Abbey with a half-twist and some clanks as her chains and necklaces swirled about, "and in the meantime, I should point out that we don't know the gender of the perpetrator, he or she could be short and chunky, or tall and thin, but I think he's probably seven feet tall at about three hundred fifty pounds or so."

"And might have a tail," said DiNozzo with a grin.

"Well no Tony, people don't have tails. He must have been carrying something that dragged once in while," Abbey said acerbically, "but look out for a suspect with some kind of foot injury or congenital birth defect that affected his feet, because his shoes were oddly shaped. When you find this guy, his shoes will be a dead giveaway."

--- ---

_Stay tuned for the next installment._

Footnotes:

(1) Tony got some of the details wrong, since anchors are usually on chain, not line, but his story is essentially correct.


	2. Chapter 2

**A Murder in Norfolk**

**Chapter Four**

"So, Mr. Alexander Harris, what do you have to say for yourself?" asked Ziva in the interview room.

"Well, first of all, my friends call me Xander. Second, tell me why I'm here before we go too much further, or I'm outta here."

Ziva looked at him with her third-fiercest glare and after a few moments said, "Do you know this girl, Mr. Harris?" as she slid a picture of Lilly Hornsby across the table to Xander. The picture was from better days than her last.

"Sure, that's Lilly Hornsby. I'm in the process of recruiting her for my school."

"Your school? You have a financial interest in the school?" she questioned.

"All of us who work there feel very proprietary towards the school, the students and our fellow, uh, teachers, there."

"Mr. Harris, you are listed as the school's 'Facilities Manager', not a recruiter. How do you explain that?"

"Who told you that?" he asked suspiciously.

"That information came from your school's website."

"Website? Oh, yeah, I forgot about that. Well, our school is really quite small and understaffed. So all of us do pretty much whatever needs to be done, which may or may not coincide with our job descriptions."

"So what's so special about Ms. Hornsby that you came all the way from Cleveland, spending a great deal time with her over a period of months, to recruit her for your school?"

"She meets the stringent qualifications for matriculation at The Sunnydale Memorial School for Girls," he said, as if quoting from a brochure.

"Excuse me, but that's a load of cowshit, Mr. Harris. No school could afford the time you've spent to recruit one student. And we know it was not just you." Ziva put four more pictures in front of Xander, each a picture of Xander with a different girl.

"Ooh, nice shots," he said, "let's see, this is Willow Rosenberg, this one is Dawn Summers, this one is Faith, er, Smith, and the last is, of course, Lilly, who you know I'm sure. So, what's the what? Are her parents complaining about our recruitment efforts? Sometimes it comes to this, parents want their little darling to go to a fancy Ivy League school, and we come along out of the blue from a place they never heard of and suddenly the parent's plans go up in smoke. But it really is Lilly's decision, isn't it?"

"Yes," said Ziva flatly, "if she were in a position to make it, it would have been her decision."

Xander frowned at Ziva and asked, "What do mean, '_would have been_', has something happened to Lilly?"

She slid the last photograph out from her folder and positioned it squarely in front of Xander. It was one of the crime-scene pictures that showed Lilly impaled on a sword. Xander's face fell, he put his head in his hands and his eyes filled with tears. "Oh Lilly," he asked softly, "what did you find?"

--- ---

"He was faking," Ziva said positively, "I know he was lying."

"I believe he was sincere," said McGee.

"Pretty good act if it was fake," said Tony.

Gibbs grunted.

"It's odd that he would ask '_what _did she find' instead of '_who _found her', as if she was the hunter instead of the victim," said Tony.

Ziva continued, "You noticed that too, huh? I questioned him for two more hours; he had an answer for every question yet told me nothing of substance. That man is hiding something, I know it, he knows I know it, and you can see from these tapes that he didn't tell me everything he knows."

McGee nodded, "Yes, I agree he's hiding something, but his grief is sincere. He didn't know Lilly Hornsby had been murdered until you showed him the crime scene photo, you can see that from the tapes too."

"Another thing," said Tony, "when you asked him if he knew anyone named Drusilla, you can see him react. His eyes narrowed, he tensed up and then forced himself to relax. But he said absolutely nothing, other than asking you where you heard the name."

"Yeah," agreed Ziva, "I noticed that too. But then he clammed down. In fact, I wish I hadn't mentioned Drusilla, after that he said even less than before."

"I think you mean 'clammed up' unless you meant 'calmed down'."

"Goddammit Tony! Would you stop correcting my English! I speak it better than you!"

"Hey, sorry Ziva, but I'm a stickler," DiNozzo said while backing up, his hands raised at his sides as if to ward off her anger, "and what the hell do you mean, you speak it better than me, there's no way!"

"Yeah? If you're so knowledgeable about your native tongue, tell me the difference between past and past perfect tenses!"

"Sure, uh, later, I have urgent work right now."

"Children! Stop fighting!" Gibbs said angrily, "if we can get back to our murder investigation? Yes? OK, suspects always try to hide something, sometimes innocent things, sometimes things important to the case. We have to find more information — Ziva, Tony, visit the school, talk to the other women in the pictures, this Willow Rosenberg, Dawn Summers and Faith Smith. Also, the other students and faculty. You know what to do."

--- ---

Dr. Mallard watched as Jimmy Palmer cleaned the autopsy table and instruments after the mornings first autopsy, a sailor who died from blood loss in his off-base apartment near the Washington Navy Yard, not far from the NCIS facility.

"You know Mr. Palmer, this case reminds me of an incident that took place while I was stationed at Treasure Island, lo these many years ago when it was a destroyer base." Palmer let Ducky's words flow undisturbed around him as he diligently scrubbed the stainless steel table. "It seems a young sailor, by the name of—hmm, I can't quite recall his name, but I believe he was assigned to the radar 'A' school—anyway, he was on liberty for the weekend and had just left the bus station in San Francisco when he was accosted by a strange..." The Doctor was interrupted by the door swinging open. He was astonished to find his bailiwick invaded by a couple of pretty young women accompanied by a Marine Corp Officer. "Here, what are you people doing?" he asked authoritatively, "this area is for authorized personnel only! And you are not authorized until I know what your business is!"

"Oh, sorry sir, are you Dr. Mallard?" asked the Marine.

"Yes, and who the hell are you?" he asked testily.

"I'm Major Riley Finn, and this is Ms. Buffy Summers and Ms. Willow Rosenberg."

"Yes, and that doesn't explain what you are doing here!"

"Oh, sorry Dr. Mallard," said Riley as he fumbled for a piece of paper in his shirt pocket, "here's my authorization."

Ducky took the paper and peered at it with suspicion. "Good heavens, this is signed by Admiral Fitzsimmons, he's on the Joint Chiefs. You wait right here while I make a phone call."

A minute or so after Ducky hung up his phone, Jethro Gibbs swarmed into the morgue with all the subtlety of an LST hitting the beach.(1) "Who the hell are you people and what the hell are you doing here without checking in with me!"

The blond girl looked amused but Major Finn said, "Sir! I have authorization! Here's my paperwork from Admiral Fitzsimmons from the Pentagon."

Gibbs grabbed Riley's paper and glanced dismissively at it. "I don't care who you know or who's shit is browning your nose, you will explain your business to me before you will be allowed to see anything at all, and then only if you get my permission, am I clear?"

"We did check in with your director," said the redhead quietly, "I believe we have dotted the i's and crossed the t's already."

Gibbs turned to glare at her, and was surprised when his glare had no apparent affect. "Let's go, all of you, upstairs to the office, I'll get to the bottom of this or know why not." Gibbs made shoving motions to get everyone moving out the door when, much to his surprise, the director herself came in.

"Hello Ms. Shepherd," said the blond girl, "we didn't expect to see you again so soon."

"Director," asked Gibbs, "what brings you here?"

"My own brand of mental telepathy. Agent Gibbs, this is Ms. Buffy Summers, Ms. Willow Rosenberg, and Major Riley Finn. They have authorization to see all the evidence we have gathered in the Hornsby case."

"I object in the strongest possible terms, director, and just what is the relationship between Buffy Summers and Dawn Summers? This is irregular, this is possibly criminal, and this may well screw up the legal case. Just what the hell is going on?" Gibbs had lowered his voice and guided Jenny across the room where he continued to argue vociferously, trying to be quiet, trying to keep the suspects from overhearing.

"Gibbs, they were sent here from the Pentagon. Now I know you operate as if you were appointed directly by Congress, but you weren't. These people came directly from Admiral Fitzsimmons, who reports directly to the CNO, the same Admiral that NCIS reports to."

"Jenny," Gibbs said urgently, "one of these women may be related to a suspect, and the other is a suspect! How many times do I have to repeat that to get it through your skull! We cannot let them in on the case!"

"So I have thick skull? Never mind, Gibbs, it's a done deal. On this decision, you and I are out of the loop. I went right to the CNO and told he me in no uncertain terms that Major Finn is to be allowed to observe every aspect of the case, and furthermore, he is allowed to bring in these civilian consultants. We have to let them in or the case will get transferred away from us. You will watch them, though, and document everything they do, say, and look at. Got it?"

"_Yes ma'am_," he said with as much disapproval as he could muster.

"And the good news, Gibbs, is that the Admiral told me that they are specifically required to cooperate with us, to a point anyway. So they will answer your questions."

"TO A POINT? What the hell does that mean! Either they're suspects and answer questions, or they aren't and won't!"

"Apparently, Finn works for a highly classified anti-terrorist outfit..."

"Director Shepherd, WE are an anti-terrorist outfit that deals with highly-classified cases! What could they possibly be doing that they can't share with us?"

"I don't know. In fact, I have been unable to find out much of anything about what they do, not even a code name. All I know is that we have been ordered to work with them, not against them. So please use your winning personality and charm to suck up to them."

"Like hell!"

"I mean it Jethro, make them happy, kiss their asses and find out all you can. One thing we won't do though, is leave them alone. Make sure that someone is always tasked to accompany them, at least while they are here or at the crime scene."

"I'm a lousy ass-kisser, as you well know."

"Oh I don't about that, if memory serves, you used to be pretty good at it."

Gibbs glared at her but said softly, "Water under the bridge, Jenny." He glanced over the director's shoulder at the suspects. He was startled to see the blond girl look at him with a sly and knowing smile, as if she had overheard his conversation with Jenny. That was impossible of course, they were on opposite sides of the morgue and they were whispering. But the impression was strong.

Director Shepherd said with raised eyebrows, "Gibbs, go, work with them. That's what our orders say and that's what you are going to do."

"OK, OK, but I am going on record on this one Jenny, I don't like it."

"I don't either Jethro, and I have already responded with a written missive as strongly worded as I could make it without generating a letter of reprimand. And in fact, I already noted your objections too along with mine. I assumed you wouldn't mind."

"Hmm," said Gibbs, "I may have become entirely too predictable."

"Just with me. Now go."

--- ---

Dr. Mallard watched as Jimmy Palmer pulled out a stainless steel morgue drawer. When it had slid out to the stops, Ducky reverently pulled back the sheet covering Lilly's face. He and Gibbs both watched the newcomers.

Buffy Summers leaned over and stroked Lilly's face. She said softly, "I never got the chance to meet you Lilly, but I miss you just the same." A tear flowed down her cheek.

Willow knelt on the floor by Lilly and could be heard whispering something, possibly in another language. She also stroked Lilly's face and softly said, "Goodbye Lilly, I wish we had the chance to get to know each other better." After a few moments of silence, she turned to Dr. Mallard and asked, "Doctor, when will you perform the autopsy?"

"I would have started already, if I hadn't been interrupted by you people."

"Would you mind if I observe?"

"Yes I mind, but apparently my opinion, even if I am the Chief Forensic Pathologist of this facility with many decades experience, doesn't matter in this case," he said a little bitterly, then continued in a more even tone, "You can suit up over there, you'll find extra scrubs in those lockers. And the rest of you, clear out!"

--- ---

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**A Murder in Norfolk**

**Chapter Five**

The next morning found Ziva and Tony in a rental car on the outskirts of Cleveland after a short flight from Washington. Ziva directed Tony down a variety of curving streets and they finally turned in to a driveway of what looked like a small farm. Actually, they were surrounded by suburbia, so this plot of land must have been worth quite a lot of money.

"Wow," said Tony as they drove slowly up the long brick drive, "this is quite the spread. They must have what, fifteen, maybe twenty acres? Imagine what that would bring on the open market, subdivided into little lots with tacky little houses?"

Ziva replied, "Do you know how long the school has been here? I mean, if it's two hundred years old, then they probably paid for it long ago. But if they just moved in last year, it would suggest that they are financially well backed."

"And what would that mean?"

"I have no idea. It might not be relevant to our case, but then again, it might be. Oh, look over there!"

Tony looked to his left and behind a barn he saw a group of about a dozen teenage girls practicing judo or something. "Do you recognize that? What is it, judo, karate, something different? It doesn't look like my police training, that's for sure."

"I'm not sure, Tony," replied Ziva as trees and shrubbery obscured the view, "There were similarities to many different disciplines, but it looked mostly like Krav Maga combined with gymnastics to me. Of course that's just what I'm familiar with. It looked eerily similar, but not identical."

"And what the hell is Krav Maga?"

"The Israeli unarmed combat method, it's actually taught to soldiers as well as civilians and is brutal when compared to other forms of martial arts. And that's why it came to mind, those little girls are practicing killing strikes."

"And you know that because?"

"Because I know those strikes very well, although without any of that leaping in the air stuff. You thought Mossad was a tea-party?"

"Hmmm," mused Tony, "you know, if we find another group of teenage girls practicing with swords, I am going to get seriously weirded out."

"You and me both, Tony, you and me both."

The pulled up to the main house, which was an old, very large, Victorian house with octagonal turrets, wrap-around porches on three levels, fussy painted wood trim wrapping every available edge and corner, and multi-paned windows that looked liked antique glass. The whole thing seemed utterly out of place in the suburbs of Cleveland, unless one imagined fields spreading to the horizons instead of houses.

They parked in front. As Tony and Ziva went up the steps they noticed a couple of girls whittling tent stakes, which seemed a little unusual. They nodded _hi_ as they stepped up to the front door which was dramatically flung open in front of them.

"NO dammit! I won't let you Willow! When are you going to learn that you don't have to do everything Giles says!" An athletic young woman looking over her shoulder knocked Tony off his feet as she stalked out and down the steps without looking where she was going or even a backward glance at Tony as fell. Ziva bent to give him a hand up when a rushing redhead collided with them. All three ended up in a heap. The two whittlers put down their implements and helped everyone up, although they couldn't help but laugh.

"Oh gosh, I'm so sorry," the redhead blurted out, "we didn't see you there." She turned to watch the other girl stalk angrily into the barn, then back to the newcomers, "I'm afraid you got caught in the crossfire of a small disagreement."

Tony dusted off his pants and said, "Hey, don't worry, I can handle it."

"Oh, good," she said distractedly, with frequent worried glances towards the barn, "just let yourself in, Sheila at the desk can help you." And she finally turned and walked decisively after the other girl.

Ziva and Tony looked at the two whittlers, both of whom shrugged and held the doors open. They walked in and Tony said to yet another teenage girl, presumably Sheila, sitting behind a glass-topped reception desk, "Hi, we're with NCIS," and he flashed his credentials.

"Oh, that's all right, but we don't need any crop insurance."

Tony and Ziva glance at each other with baffled expressions.

"Didn't you say NCIS?" asked Sheila, taking in their confused look.

"Yes."

"And isn't that the National Crop Insurance Services?"

"No."

"National Coroner's Information System?"

"No, it's Naval Criminal Investigative Service."

"Oh, well, I guess you want to see the director then."

"That's a good guess."

Sheila handed him a card, "That's his card, I would suggest you call for an appointment before you fly over there."

Tony looked at the card which stated: Rupert Giles, Director, followed by a phone number and a London address.

"The Principal, then," said Tony.

"Oh sure, that would be Robin Wood, but he's out."

"So when will he be in?" asked Ziva, barely able to be civil.

"Don't know, really," she turned and bellowed up the stairs to her right, "HEY DAWN! WHEN'S ROBIN GONNA BE BACK!"

The agents both shook their heads at the volume and looked expectedly up the stairs. A disembodied voice floated down, "Next week!"

Sheila said, "OK, there you go!" in a satisfied tone of voice, as if she had successfully completed a complex task.

Tony said, "Then we would like to speak to whomever Principal Wood left in charge."

"That would be Willow. You saw her, she must have passed you on the porch when you came in; Willow's the red head."

"I see, then we will wait for her return," said Ziva.

"That might be awhile, those little spats of hers and Ken can get operatic in length," said a new voice coming down the hall. Tony looked up and saw Xander Harris. "There's actually a betting pool for how long they stay together, or _if_ they stay together. So, how can I help you?"

"We were hoping to talk to whoever is in charge of this place, and then interview several of the students and faculty."

"Hmmm, sounds OK by me, let's go see Buffy."

"Buffy?"

"Yeah, she's in charge."

"Sheila here didn't mention that."

"Yeah, well, that's because Buffy won't take any official title, duties, office, or anything, but she's still the one in charge."

"This is Buffy Summers you're talking about?"

"Yep."

As they strolled down the main hall of the house, they passed an open door to the basement. Tony glanced down incredulously when he heard the unmistakable sound of swords striking swords. He couldn't see anything but a wall past the landing but he shot a look towards Ziva, who shook her head grimly. Xander didn't notice his charges' looks.

"So ah, Xander," asked Ziva, "had Lilly Hornsby ever been here for any classes or guidance or anything?"

"No, I'm sorry to say, we hadn't got that far. She was planning to do the summer session this year, and I am genuinely sorry that she didn't get the chance, it might have saved her life."

"How's that?"

"Well, if she'd had even the rudimentary swordsmanship class, the, uh, bad guy she was fighting might not have been able to de-sword her."

"Where'd she get that sword, anyway?" Ziva asked without any inflection that might belie how serious her question was from a legal standpoint.

"Beats me," replied Xander, "most of our girls prefer katanas."

Ziva was so dumbfounded by that casual statement that she was silenced for several long moments. Finally she asked, "And just what is the purpose of teaching swordplay to teenage girls?"

"It's not play, it's serious. And it's not just the girls, the guys too," Xander noticed Ziva's glare and added, "the purpose, yes, that's easy. We find it helps to teach self-confidence and independence. I mean, we don't actually go out and look for sword-fights, heh-heh."

They came to a double door which Xander opened with a flourish. Ziva and Tony walked in and found a class of about a dozen thirteen and fourteen year old girls intently watching their instructor. Written in big letters, at the front of the hall, up above the whiteboard, was:

**You think you know what you are, what's to come. **

**You've only just begun.**

Ziva eyed it speculatively. The woman at the front, presumably Buffy Summers, was doing a one-handed handstand on top of a three foot chunk of 2x4. She was absolutely still, her feet pointing towards the ceiling, her left arm pointed sideways. After a few moments, she let her legs drop to a lateral split, then back up and down to a transverse split. Finally, she gracefully bent her knees and waist and rotated around her shoulder until she was balanced on top of the 2x4 with her hand between her thighs providing the only support. The she bent her supporting elbow and suddenly straightened it out, thus shooting upwards a few inches. She had grabbed the 2x4 and when she was clear of the floor shot her legs out in one direction, this twisted her in mid-air. She came down with a surprisingly soft thump, moved her legs to the vertical position, and was now facing her audience. Then she gracefully let her feet down to the floor and stood straight.

The class let out their collective breaths simultaneously. Buffy said, "OK Charlie, was that demonstration proof enough for you?"

"Oh, uh, yes Ms. Summers, I believe you now," replied a thirteen year old blond girl with an awed expression.

"Call me Buffy, I prefer it. More importantly, do you believe me when I say that you can do it too? At least with some training and practice."

"I'm coming around to it, Ms., uh, Buffy, at least I don't disbelieve it anymore."

"I'll accept that, now it's up to me to show you how. So, first, I want all of you to do a plain old hand stand on the floor, use both your hands and stay on the pads."

All the girls did a credible job of it, much to Ziva's surprise again because she knew full well just how difficult it was to balance like that, at least for longer than a few seconds. Buffy said, "Good, stay like that for ten minutes." Then she walked towards the NCIS agents.

"What can I do for you?" Buffy asked, eying Ziva and DiNozzo speculatively and with a certain amount of suspicion.

"We'd like to question you, and some of the students and instructors here concerning the death of Lilly Hornsby."

"Do you have a warrant?"

"No, but we can get one in an hour or so. If you force us to get a warrant, we will shut down your school while we question everyone here separately. Otherwise, with your permission, we will quietly question a few of your people without disturbing the others. It's your choice."

"That sounds threatening to me. I can have some very high-powered attorneys here before you get back with your warrant, you won't shut down the school." She paused and added, "But, there's no need for this pissing contest, we want Lilly's murderer found just as much as you, so go ahead." She turned and continued, "Xander, show them to the living room downstairs, no one uses it, so it should be perfect."

Xander nodded and said, "Come on guys."

Ziva said over her shoulder as she followed Xander, "Ms. Summers, I'd like to interview you first."

Buffy nodded and said, "Ten minutes."

--- ---

Five hours later Ziva and Tony drove away. "Well, that was a colossal waste of time," said Ziva from the passenger seat as she stretched her arms and legs.

"Yeah, except we did get to see the school. And I gotta say, I've got more questions than answers. The only problem being I don't know what this place had to do with Lilly's death. If the victim had been one of the students from here, we could have done an in depth investigation, surveillance, the whole nine yards. But she'd never been here, and we don't have squat."

"Yeah, I'm pretty darn suspicious of this school too, but I agree that that it has little, or nothing, to do with Lilly Hornsby's murder. It does reminds me of a horror movie ad I've seen recently: '_Private School, Deadly Lessons_' or something like that was the tagline that went with the ads," said Ziva.

"Hey I saw that one, it's uh," Tony tapped his fingers impatiently, "Oh, yeah, _The Woods_, with Bruce Campbell, Patricia Clarkson and Agnes Bruckner. Decent movie, beautifully filmed and acted, a victim of corporate politics, but the plot is not a good parallel.

"You and your movies," Ziva spat.

"Hey, you brought it up Ziva."

"But I didn't expect you to have seen it. In the meantime, I still get weird vibes from the Sunnydale Memorial School. What do you suppose it's named for, Tony?

"It can only be for the town of Sunnydale, California. It fell into a giant sinkhole several years ago, and disappeared," said DiNozzo.

"What! How come I missed that? How many died?"

"You weren't here yet, I guess it didn't make the international news because almost no one died because the whole town cleared out before the collapse." Tony paused for a few moments and started snapping his fingers restlessly. Then he said, "THAT'S where I know Buffy Summers from! She and some of her friends were the last people out of Sunnydale! There was a great picture of her and a bunch of other girls standing around a school bus at the edge of the Sunnydale Crater. I had forgotten it, strange to forget something that major. Well, that doesn't explain the strangeness here, does it?"

"No, I'm still worried about these girls, although they seemed happy to be here. Maybe we can pass on our suspicions to the FBI."

"Yeah, they'll love us for that," Tony said with a grin.

**Chapter Six**

The next day, back at the office, DiNozzo fiddled with his digital camera when the access cover sprang open and the memory card shot out like a missle—it flew into Ziva's cubicle and bounced off the divider, ended up under her desk. Tony said, "Probie, retrieve that memory card for me."

McGee said, "You gotta be kidding me, Ziva probably has bear traps under her desk. No way am I gonna risk getting caught be her, she'd probably start squeezing bits of me in a vice."

"Wimp," said Tony as he crawled under Ziva's desk to retrieve his memory card.

Ziva walked in, took one look, and snorted loudly, "DiNozzo, what the fuck are you doing under my desk?"

He backed out quickly, banging his head in the process, and looked up a little sheepishly, and said, "l was just getting—you know what? As your Senior officer, I don't need to explain myself to you." And he got up, straightened his tie, and sat down at his desk.

When Gibbs got there Ziva was bending down under her desk with a flashlight. Gibbs asked, "Agent David? Is there a problem?"

She too bumped her head as she sat up, "Nope, everything's ship-shaped."

"I think you mean ship-shape; present, not past tense," said Tony, living on the edge.

"Report people, what'd you find in Cleveland?'

"Not much, it's kind of an odd sort of school, what with teaching swordsmanship to teenagers, along with Krav Maga, some kind of gymnastics, and meditation. They have some sort of arrangement with the local high school and the students take at least some classes there during the regular school year. I don't know how they could have arranged something like that. We talked briefly to to the High School principal, and he had little to say, nothing bad, nothing even a little off. No one at the school, other than the folks we already knew about, had met Lilly, and she had never been to Cleveland. We did wonder about the sword, but they expressed puzzlement over where she could have gotten it."

"Yeah," said Gibbs, "I found out about the sword yesterday. It was her father's. He thought he had it under lock and key, but you know teenagers."

"Oh shit," said Tony, "he must be feeling..."

"Yeah, I've got him over at the Navy Hospital, under a suicide watch. He didn't take it well."

Glum settled in.

"What about this Drusilla? Anybody identify her yet?" asked Ziva.

"McGee is with Major Finn right now, apparently his outfit has some kind of lead on her. They're supposed to get back to us."

"So what do we do today?"

"Fill out reports."

--- ---

"So, Doctor Ducky, how's tricks?" The door slammed open and Willow Rosenberg walked in, leaving Dr. Mallard feeling a little out of control.

"Ms. Rosenberg, is it? Please call me Dr. Mallard, only friends of long standing or people who have saved my life are at liberty to call me Ducky."

"Oooh, lucky guess. And I might surprise you yet in the life-save-age department." Ducky blinked. "But anyway, I came by to get a copy of your report on that sailor who was found dead in his apartment the other day."

"Why? That isn't part of your case."

"Umm, well, yeah, it is," said Willow.

"Huh, then we'll have to call Jethro on this."

"Oh that's OK, I'll see him on my way out."

"Why do you think they are connected?"

"Oh, well, you see, it's the method of killing."

"Oh sure, that's obvious, one was exsanguinated through a neck wound of unspecified origin, and the other died from getting run through with her own sword. How ever did I miss the connection?" asked Dr. Mallard as he theatrically slapped his forehead.

"All right mister, you don't have to get all sarcastic on me. It's just that they're both unusual methods of murder. That, and a snitch's tale."

"OK Ms. Rosenberg, now we really have to see Jethro. You can't be withholding information from us."

"Oh, and I'm so totally not doing that!" said Willow, bobbing up and down a little, "that's why I'm here. I'm going to see Agent Gibbs as soon as I have read your report! I do need to check the details so that I can verify our snitch's tale."

Dr. Mallard frowned suspiciously at Willow, but finally he decided it was a reasonable request and turned to the computer to find the file. "Ah, here it is, would you like a print-out?"

"Yes please Dr Mallard, and would you forward the report to my email address?"

"I'll get Abbey to do that, I need to get back to work."

Willow chuckled, "You don't know how do you? Here, I'll take care of it for you." Willow bent over Ducky's shoulder and tapped on his computer for a few moments. "There," she said straightening up, "all done, no need to bother Abbey, no fuss, no muss!"

Dr. Mallard frowned as it seemed like it took a lot of keystrokes just to forward one file. Oh well, he thought to himself, that's why I have other people to take care of this computer stuff for me.

Willow read the report as it came out of the printer. She looked thoughtful as she studied the photographs. Finally, when she got to the end, she said, "Well, maybe I was wrong, I don't see much that would connect these crimes, so, I guess I'll be on my way back to Cleveland."

"Too bad," said Dr. Mallard, "I thought this was a break in the case. I suggest you talk to Jethro anyway, he might see a connection that you missed."

"Of course Doctor, I'm going to see him right now."

As Willow left she took out her cell phone and pushed number one on her keypad. She heard an answer and Ducky could hear her say, "Hey Buffy, it's confirmed, it was definitely a vam..." she was cut off as the door to the morgue closed behind her. Ducky spent the rest of the morning trying to think of a word that started with 'vam'.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

An _NCIS_ Crossover with _Buffy, the Vampire Slayer_

**A Murder in Norfolk**

by STFarnham

Lancer47

_Notes: I mention real ships in this story, but all the characters are fiction. Any resemblance between any of these characters and real persons is strictly coincidence._

**Chapter 7**

The next morning the complete NCIS team was in the office by seven AM, all yawning over coffee and donuts, trying to blink the last sleep from their eyes. Except Jethro, who looked like he had a full nights sleep and a hearty breakfast. DiNozzo couldn't believe it, _how did he do it_, he wondered, _Gibbs couldn't have gotten any more sleep than anyone else, guess it must be a Marine Corps thing_.

"All right boys and girls," asked Gibbs, "anything new this morning? McGee, what did you find out about Drusilla yesterday?"

"Major Finn has a whole troop or squad or department, or something I'm not too clear on, looking for her. This Drusilla is apparently some kind of major player in whatever Finn's group does. Finn is incredibly close-mouthed on whatever that is, though. He's kinda like those NSA agents I talked to a couple of years ago, they never actually answered any question I asked them beyond their names."

Gibbs grimaced and looked over at Dr. Mallard, who handed over a neatly bound report, "Toxicology."

"And...?"

"Nothing unusual. Oh Jethro, when that young woman, Ms. Rosenberg, talked to you yesterday afternoon about her snitch and the possible connection between the Yarro case and the Hornsby case, did you come to any conclusion?"

Gibbs glared ferociously and asked, "What the hell are you talking about? I didn't see Ms. Rosenberg yesterday afternoon."

Ducky looked surprised and said, "Hmmm, call her then, she assured me she would talk to you. Mind you, it's quite possibly nothing, but she came down to my lab and read the report about ET2 Juan Yarro, the sailor found in his apartment the other day, drained of his blood with a neck wound."

Ziva leaned over to Tony and questioned quietly, "ET2?"

Tony answered in an aside, "Electronic Technician, Second Class Petty Officer."

"She never talked to me, what was her interest, Ducky?" asked Gibbs.

"She told me there was a connection between the cases, then read my report and claimed to change her mind. But she said something about a tip, and she assured me she would keep you in the loop. I guess she lied to me. Mind you, even though she can be an irritating girl, she does know her stuff. She is intelligent and well-informed."

"And what do you think about this supposed link?"

"I didn't see the association then and I still don't, the wounds are entirely different, one was in Norfolk, the other near Washington DC, one was a violent confrontation outside, the other took place indoors without disturbing any neighbors, one victim was a teenage girl in high school, the other an active duty Petty Officer—I could go on but, I don't see the point."

Gibbs said, "McGee, you were at the scene on the Yarro case, any conclusions?"

"Not really boss," said Tony, "Yarro's apartment didn't look like the scene of a struggle, other than one knocked over glass on the coffee table and a sink full of dirty dishes. Well, that and the dead body with neck wounds—there was a little blood dribbled on the couch, but nowhere as much as there should've been. Actually, the whole apartment was neater than one would expect for a twenty-something Petty Officer, it looked like it had been cleaned up to impress someone."

McGee added, "It did have all the indications that he had a romantic evening planned: a plate of snacks, drinks, food in the oven ready for dinner, but uneaten, table set as formally as he could manage. The oven was on low and the food had dried out overnight. Something definitely interrupted Yarro's plans."

"Any sign of a companion?" asked Gibbs.

"According to the neighbors, he was quiet, occasionally went out on dates but didn't have a steady girlfriend as far as anyone knew. Only one saw anyone who might be our suspect: she was tall, with long very dark hair, wore a flowing white dress, had very pale skin, and was described as "lovely with a kind of an ethereal air", whatever that means. We had planned on talking to his shipmates but got interrupted by the Norfolk thing."

"What was his assignment?"

"Oh, he was on temporary duty here at the Washington Navy Yard, he was repairing some of the old electronic equipment on the USS Barry, the destroyer on display down the street. He'd been here for for two months, and had another month to go before going to his regular duty in Norfolk."

"Norfolk? So maybe there was a connection after all?" Gibbs asked.

"I doubt it, boss," Tony continued, "he had orders to USS Truxton, DDG103 (4), but the Truxton is still being built down in a shipyard in Pascagoula, Mississippi. Fitting-out was delayed by a fire on board in April, and by Hurricane Katrina, so before he could even leave his last duty station his orders got changed to USS Winston S. Churchill (DDG 81), in Norfolk. Due to the rapid changes in his orders, there was a three month gap between old and new assignments, so they sent him here to work on the Barry until the Churchill got back from a cruise."

"He had never even been to Little Creek?"

"Correct boss, he had reported to the Naval Shipyard in Norfolk, the Churchill's home port, but only by phone. You know there's always a shortage of qualified electronic techs, so as soon as BUPERS discovered they had a temporarily available ET they found him a job."

Ziva asked incredulously, "The United States Navy has a ship named after Winston Churchill?"

"Yep, and in honor of the whole British thing, they always have at least one Royal Navy Sailor assigned to the ship," said Tony.

"You do remember when British troops burnt down the White House, don't you? And this very facility that we work in, the Washington Navy Yard, was burnt by the Americans to keep it from falling into the hands of the Royal Navy? It's been awhile, but still."

"Yeah, that was long time ago. Now we're friends across the ocean."

"Huh," said Ziva, "I guess you guys really don't hold grudges, not like my part of the world."

"So what the hell is this supposed connection?" Gibbs asked. "Somebody get Rosenberg down here. Anybody know where our consultants are, by the way? We're supposed to be watching these people."

McGee looked up from his computer and said, "Conveniently, Rosenberg is on her way here, she called twenty minutes ago. Major Riley and Summers are in Norfolk. They are being escorted by an NCIS agent from Little Creek."

"What are they doing there?"

"Last update shows them at NCIS Tech Services in Norfolk, looking over the reports from the Portsmouth serial murders."

"WHAT? What does that have to do with anything?" Gibbs yelled.

"You'll have to ask them, boss."

"Pull up the reports from the Portsmouth case and check them out, McGee."

Half an hour later, McGee shook his head. "Well boss, I dunno about the Hornsby case, but there is some similarity with Yarro case."

"Yeah?"

"One of the old Navy Yard buildings in Portsmouth, Virginia had been slated for demolition, but then someone noticed that it was on the National Historical Building Registry, so they decided to remodel it into condos or offices or something. Demolition crews have been working in the building for weeks, cleaning it up and removing anything that could be removed while taking out the non-load-bearing walls."

"Move it along McGee," said Gibbs impatiently.

"Sure boss, this week the Base Publicity Officer took a tour of the site to photograph progress. She was more than a little upset when she stumbled on a dozen corpses in the basement, all laid out neatly in some sort of display."

"The connection McGee?"

"Oh, yeah, the corpses had neck wounds and had been drained of blood, just like ET2 Yarro. Other than that, nothing. Of course, that's a pretty big connection."

"Yeah it is. Hell," he said with disgust, "this means we'll have to join forces with the Atlantic Coast Special Investigations Team(5). I'll delay that as long as possible, but sooner or later we're gonna lose seniority in this case."

"On the other hand, the Hornsby girl is still ours, one hundred per cent," said McGee.

"And we're gonna keep it that way. We won't mention to anyone in ACSIT Rosenberg's suspicions about a possible connection. Make certain our paperwork reflects all the reason's why. Where the hell is Rosenberg?"

Just at that moment, the elevator doors 'dinged' and a crowd of eight o'clock people burst outwards. In the middle of the pack Willow's red hair stood out to Gibbs. He watched her as she walked over.

"Hi," she said to Gibbs with a little smile and a nervous glance at Ducky, "I suppose you're wondering if there is anything sinister about my forgetting to stop by your desk yesterday, well I was just thinking, and I get kinda one-tracked and it wasn't until I got back to my hotel that I remembered that I was gonna talk to you first Gibbs and felt so bad I just lay back and closed my eyes and started thinking some more and the next thing you know it's morning, can you forgive me?"

Gibbs, always a sucker for redheads, said, "Sure, I can forgive you, this time. Lets sit, and you can explain to me what you have."

"Well, I don't have all that much. I believe you have three cases that are really just one case: the Portsmouth murders, Lilly Hornsby's murder, and Juan Yarro's murder. We think the perpetrator killed all those people in Norfolk, tried to kill someone in Little Creek but was interrupted by Lilly who got killed for her trouble. But then they, for whatever reason, had no time left and had to get going and came here, I believe that Yarro and Lilly were side issues, the main plot was always the twelve killed in that basement. We're developing leads to figure out the killer's location now."

"And just why did these people do all this stuff? And how many are there?"

"Oh gosh Agent Gibbs, I'm so sorry to tell you this, but it's classified," Willow looked absolutely stricken, "I wish I could talk, but they were awfully adamant about it over at Major Riley's department in the Pentagon. That Admiral Fitzsimmons is usually such a teddy bear, but he got really really stiff-necked when I suggested bringing you in."

Gibbs was taken aback at the description of an Admiral as a 'teddy bear'. He asked, "Well, what can you tell us?"

"The one who actually killed poor Juan Yarro, was most likely Drusilla, no last name that we've ever been able to discover. She has a way of mesmerizing young men. The de-, I mean the guy who killed Lilly, works for Drusilla, or is under her control or something. Drusilla was probably responsible for most, if not all, of the murders, unless she has other minions that we don't know about. The dozen corpses were most likely for some sort of bizarre cult ritual."

"Cult? What cult?"

"You have to understand, Agent Gibbs, that these people really believe this supernatural stuff, they are convinced that it's possible to raise demons and use magic to gain influence, power, and wealth. As to what they specifically thought they were accomplishing, I don't know, at least not yet."

"Do you at least have a picture of the suspect?" asked Tony.

"Oh yeah, of course," Willow said while she rummaged through her briefcase, "here." She handed a couple of 8x10's to Gibbs.

Gibbs studied the pictures, then handed them around. "Well," he said doubtfully, "she doesn't really look all that lethal to me."

"She's crazy, whacked out, totally loony. Worse than that, she's dangerous, so be careful because you really don't want to corner Drusilla—she may look like a helpless crack whore, but I assure, she is not. And I know that from personal experience." Willow shuddered.

"OK, we're warned," said Gibbs, not convinced, "do you have pictures of the other guy?"

"Oh, the one who killed poor Lilly. No, sorry to say, that one is an unknown."

"So what else do you have?" Gibbs said impatiently.

"I haven't seen the crime scene photos yet, but I heard that the victims were arranged in a spoke arrangement, this suggests some sort of plan to raise a demon, one who would be able to cause destruction on a grand scale, but I won't know for what purpose, unless I see it."

Gibbs handed Willow a folder, "Here are the crime scene photos."

Willow looked at the first shot and smiled, "Praise Hecate and Persephone, she got it wrong!"

"Huh?" said Tony.

"Look, the twelve sacrifices are arranged like spokes in wheel, but their heads are in the center, that produces nothing, they needed to be arranged head out, feet in." She looked up and noticed everyone was looking at her with odd expressions, and Willow quickly continued, "I mean if she's working off the book that I'm thinking of. You see, this is a famous old spell from ancient Mesopotamia, but interestingly, it's never been correctly translated. What this actually demonstrates is, besides believing in the supernatural, Drusilla is not very literate in Sumerian."

"Sumerian?" asked Dr. Mallard.

"Yes, predecessor to Akkadian, spoken in Sumer, or Mesopotamia, about four thousand years ago. The language was considered lost until about a hundred and fifty years ago, and now most of the surviving writings from ancient Sumer have been translated. It was one of the first, or maybe _the_ first, written language in human history."

"Can you speak it?"

"Sometimes I can work out the the meaning of phrases, and we have several people in our group who are considered world class experts. But no, I don't speak it, no one alive today can speak it, because no one knows how the the cuneiform symbols were pronounced. Although some linguists have attempted to work backwards from Egyptian, we don't really know if they are close or not."

Tony flipped through the file for and found what he was looking for. "Here, look at these, can you read this?"

Willow took the photos and saw that around the bodies, on the basement walls, were inscribed many hundreds of cuneiform symbols. She said, "Wow, look at that!" She looked and shook her head, "can I have copies of these pages please? I've got to get these to Dawn, she's our resident translator."

"Sure," said Tony.

"Oh wait," added Willow, "these photos aren't complete, look, some of these symbols are partially hidden behind columns."

"Well," said Tony, "this isn't our crime scene, or they would be complete."

"I've gotta get Dawn and fly down there, we need to look at that scene."

Gibbs said, "Tony and Ziva, go with her. I'll call ahead and have Major Finn meet you, that should be enough to get you what you need. And McGee, head down to Norfolk now, see Chief Brandt and re-interview the family and friends of Lilly Hornsby."

--- ---

It was the next morning when Buffy and Riley made it to the Naval Air Station in Norfolk to meet an Air Force AMC flight from Cleveland(6). Buffy scowled when she saw her sister stumble off the plane, helped by Ziva. She didn't notice that Agent DiNozzo was also looking green about the gills, she only had eyes for Dawn. She ran over to help and asked frantically, "What's wrong?" glaring at the NCIS agents.

Ziva smiled as she said, "This isn't uncommon when you catch a ride on a C-130. I'm afraid your little sis doesn't have the stomach for the Air Force."

"I'm all right Buffy, just give me a minute. At least I didn't actually throw up. It's a good thing the flight wasn't any longer though. Do these planes always sound like a sheet metal factory that's self-destructing in midair?"

The flight sergeant walked by and overheard the comment. He said, "It was clear weather the whole way, this was smoother that usual."

"I'm flying commercial when we're done here, no more propellers for this girl!" said Dawn.

"Wimp," said Tony, but not as forcefully as he would have wished.

Eventually they made it to the Navy Yard, talked their way past security, and finally to the crime scene in the basement. The bodies had been removed, but someone had taped their outlines on the floor.

Ziva snapped, "What the hell is that? I thought they only did that taping nonsense on TV."

The Norfolk NCIS agent who accompanied them said, "Yeah, normally, but this one was so unusual that we couldn't resist. But we did complete the crime scene investigation before taping, we had to compare it with the photographs to get it right."

Dawn ignored the chatter and had started digitally recording the walls and taking notes. She said, "Did you notice that these symbols are all written in blood?"

"Yeah Miss Summers, we noticed. Kind of hard to miss really," said Ziva.

"Oh, I just wanted to make sure, you know, since it's turned brown and isn't red anymore."

"Yep, even us hicks down here in the deep south know that," said the Norfolk Agent sarcastically.

"Oh, gosh, I'm sorry, I sounded all condescending, please, we're just trying to help and—I'll shut up now." Dawn hadn't stopped taking pictures.

"So Dawn," asked Willow, "anything of interest? I recognize a few symbols, all the usual stuff about ending the world."

"It may take awhile to properly translate this. Although you might think it would help to have that old Sumerian spell book, that actually makes it harder because so many previous scholars got it wrong. Still, I'm really glad they didn't get the bodies pointed correctly."

"Why, would we be overrun with demons from hell had they done it right?" snarked Ziva.

"No, no, of course not, I was just caught up in the moment," said Dawn.

"She really gets into her work," Willow said with a disarming little grin.

--- ---

McGee got back from Norfolk after doing follow-up interviews with the help of the Chief Master-at-Arms. He dropped his overnight bag on the floor next to his chair with disgust. "Man," he said, "that Chief Brandt is one foul-mouthed old fart! Why do they let people like that stay in the Navy?"

"Because he gets the job done, McGee," said Gibbs, using his Gunny Sergeant voice.

"But geez boss! He can't even form complete thoughts, much less complete sentences, without using a handful of inappropriate adjectives! I mean, what's up with that? Besides, I know from personal observation that most modern sailors, especially in the operations department, you know, the people who really run the ship, look down their noses at the deck force."

Gibbs looked angrily across his desk at McGee, to the point where McGee decided not to say whatever he intended to say next.

Gibbs said, "Imagine this _Timothy_, imagine you're on a Destroyer in a severe storm; it's nothing like you've seen in the movies because you can't film at sea in weather that bad, and if you could you wouldn't see anything but dark blurs, water splashing into your lens, and occasional light flashes. The whole ship is bouncing up and down ten feet or more every thirty seconds or so, while rocking back and forth through seventy degree rolls and simultaneously pitching fore-and-aft. This results in a sickening uneven corkscrew motion and about half the sailors on board are seasick, half of them to the point where they're incapacitated for all practical purposes. This because the modern Navy doesn't spend as much time at sea as the old timers, so it takes awhile before everyone gets their sealegs. Now suppose something goes wrong on deck, say a chain-stopper slips a little--loosening the tension on one of the anchors enough so that it starts swinging, or maybe some flotsam slams into a wire stay supporting heavy equipment which is now dangling precariously, or maybe something just breaks, who you gonna call to fix the problem is before it results in a holed hull and a sunken ship? The lah-di-dah Operations Specialist who's on his hands and knees crawling around on the anti-static rubber decking of the temperature and humidity controlled Combat-Information-Center, getting flung back and forth between bulkhead and radar with every roll, while his head is stuck in a waste basket puking his guts out? Or the foul-mouthed bo'suns mate who has the lung-power to shout orders above the noise of the wind and still be understood, and knows exactly how to direct a couple of dozen guys and exactly what each needs to do in order to stop tons of steel from swinging loose without killing anybody. And he does all this while hanging in there on the weather decks while the wind comes across the bows at fifty knots and the waves puts everyone under tons of water half the time, all without getting washed overboard."

"Don't they have safety lines?" McGee asked, getting caught up in the imagery.

"Sure, but if you get flung over the side in those conditions, the only thing a safety line does is make it possible to recover your body after the waves smash you against the hull. No, McGee, the reason there are still a few guys like Chief Brandt around, even though they may upset some of the gentler officers with rude language, even though they may not be able to do much with a computer besides order up supplies, even though they don't have much use for trigonometry or foreign languages, the one thing they can do is to keep the ship afloat when everything goes into the crapper."

Gibbs looked up in irritation at a sailor who had come in during his rant, "What the hell do you want, sailor?"

"OS-1 Huss, here's a package for you from Norfolk NCIS, sign here Agent Gibbs. And for the record, _Special Agent_, I've never been seasick a day in my life, and I've ridden Destroyers in Beaufort 11 weather." His tone of voice suggested he considered Special Agent a lower rate than dung beetle.

"Humph," Gibbs said as he signed the receipt, "how come an E6 is delivering packages?"

"I got the short straw."

Ziva had to lean over to Tony and whisper, "Why's that guy so pissed at Gibbs?"

Tony grinned and whispered, "He must've overheard Gibbs '_lah-di-dah'_ assessment of Operations Specialists. Three guesses what OS stands for, and the first two don't count."

Ziva grinned back.

--- ---

Gibbs blew past the Director's secretary into the Director's office. "Madam Director," said Gibbs, "I have a case that meshes with ACSIT. We will probably have to join forces with them, and I want you to let them know, gently of course, that I'll be in charge."

Jenny raised her eyebrows. "Well, that might be a problem."

"What problem? I checked, Special Agent Bill Nielsson is in charge of the special team, and I'm senior to him, and you're the Director of the whole agency, so direct him to report to me."

"I could do that, but are you aware that Bill is a prickly SOB?"

Gibbs laughed, "Yes, I knew that."

"The problem is that Norfolk is his district, not yours. If I should put you in charge, he do the job under your leadership alright, but I'd spend the next five years fending off political attacks from unforeseen directions. I don't need another enemy Jethro, this job is difficult enough as it is."

"So what do you suggest I do?"

"If push comes to shove, you'll have to work with him. Maybe, and I stress the word _maybe_, I can set it up so you and Bill are co-equals in charge. But if there is any but the slightest resistance to that idea, Bill will remain the boss of the Special Unit and you'll have to work with him."

"I hate that we're putting internal politics above solving the crime. We have fourteen dead folks here, including dependents, active duty, and civilians. We need to catch these people Jenny, and you know I'm the one to do it."

"Jethro, you aren't the only good agent under me. Get serious."

He sighed and said, "OK OK, do what you can. In a similar vein, have you found anything more about this Major Riley Finn?"

"Nothing, it's black hole over there in the Pentagon. Information and queries go in, but nothing comes back out. I did send your suggestion for investigating the Sunnydale school over to the FBI the other day, which resulted in an angry phone call from the Cleveland SAIC this morning. It seems that shortly after opening a case file on the school, he got angry calls from the Deputy Director of the FBI. He pushed it all on me to avoid a letter of reprimand and right now my stock with the FBI, which wasn't notably high to begin with, is at an all-time low."

"What the hell kind of pull do those people have?" asked Gibbs in wondering tone.

--- ---

The rest of the day was spent going over evidence, writing reports, calling anyone even remotely connected to any of the victims in an attempt to develop leads. Finally, a report came back from Major Finn, detailing several possible locations of their only major suspect, Drusilla NLN.

Gibbs said, "Ziva, DiNozzo, McGee, we're going down to Norfolk. I'm tired of sittin' on my ass, we'll see if we can find our suspect."

But before they could get to the elevator, the phone rang, Gibbs answered, "What! Uh uh, oh hell, dammit! We're on our way!"

"What was that boss?" asked Tony.

"Four NCIS Agents from Norfolk and Little Creek almost captured Drusilla."

"What happened?"

"One is dead, one is in critical condition and may or may not pull through, and the other two are injured and not expected back to full duty for at least six months."

"What the hell happened? This one girl did all that?" wondered DiNozzo, "she must've had help."

"Call Rosenberg," said Gibbs, "apparently she knows what she's talking about after all."

Ziva added, "I want to get Buffy Summers too."

"What for Ziva?" Gibbs asked, "I've met her, she looks like a college cheerleader, how's she gonna help? She's gonna wave her pom-poms angrily?"

"I saw a demonstration of her fighting skills, I think we need her to capture our suspect."

Gibbs was amazed when he saw that Ziva, who was surely one of the most dangerous people in the building, had nothing but respect for the ability of Buffy Summers. He supposed that he would have to revise his estimation, but it wouldn't be easy. "OK, see if she'll join us."

TBC

_Footnotes:_

_(4) You can Google USS Truxtun (DDG103) and see pictures of the fire and the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina at the shipyard in Pascagoula. You can also find pictures of the USS Winston S. Churchill (DDG81)._

_(5) ACSIT: I made that up, but I wouldn't be terribly surprised to find teams with similar names._

_(6) I have no idea if the Air Force ever flies from Cleveland to Norfolk, or if they ever land at Navy Airfields, or even if they still fly C130s, I just made it up because it seemed more likely than NCIS agents flying on business jets. AMC Air Mobility Command, the successor to MAC, Military Airlift Command._


	5. Chapter 5

An _NCIS_ Crossover with _Buffy, the Vampire Slayer_

**A Murder in Norfolk**

by STFarnham

Lancer47

_Notes: I mention real ships in this story, but all the characters are fiction. Any resemblance between any of these characters and real persons is strictly unintended coincidence._

**Chapter 8**

The NCIS Team, plus Willow, drove for Norfolk with flashing lights as fast as Gibbs could drive. Traffic kept him from going crazy fast, although Willow was ready to bail out by the time they got outside of the city limits . If the others were worried, they didn't say until hours later when they nearly became airborne on the downside of the Hampton Roads Bridge-Tunnel.

"Hey Gibbs," said DiNozzo, "I'd really like to live to see tomorrow."

Gibbs didn't answer, but he did slow a little; in the end Gibbs had shaved a half hour off the normal three hour trip. But they finally made it to the Norfolk NCIS office in one piece. They all followed Gibbs up the steps to the NCIS building in the Norfolk Navy Yard. Gibbs started to talk to the receptionist when a man in a expensive suit came out of the corner office.

"Hey hey, if it isn't my old buddy Jethro Gibbs! Howya doin' these days?"

"Fine Bill, fine. Guys, this is Bill Nielsson, Bill, this is my team..."

"So you're the poor bastards who have to put up ol' 'Sinker' Gibbs! Did he ever tell you about his first trip around Cape Hatteras? He was a brand new PFC, right outta boot camp. It was about 1970 or so and I was a new Lieutenant (jg) on the Manitowac, the second of the Newport LST class, and for the first part of the cruise for some reason there weren't any Marine Officers on board to ride herd on you flakes. So it was up to me, eh, Gibbs, up to me to keep you from falling overhead, eh?"

Gibbs wore a fixed smile and he had developed a noticeable muscle spasm in his neck as he said, "Yes, and now I'm your senior in the NCIS, funny world, isn't it?"

Nielsson laughed out loud and said, "You shoulda seen him on his first night at sea. We hit a little weather and all the leathernecks were sicker 'n dogs. The heads near the Marine's compartment were awash with vomit, it was disgustin', I tell you, I mean really disgustin'! Next day it had to be cleaned out with a firehose, it was so bad. But that night, a little after midrats, young PFC Gibbs crawled up and aft to the fantail where he finds a cook loungin' against a bulkhead smokin' a cigarette. The cook says...," Nielsson broke up laughing and slapped his knee, "...so the cook says, _'Needed a little fresh air, eh?'_ And Gibbs answered, _'I just wanted to see the sky again before we sink!'_ And the cook laughs at him, laughs out loud and tells his friends about the dumb seasick jarhead who thought we were in heavy seas and about to sink!" Nielsson laughed some more, while Gibbs forehead veins developed alarming pulses, and continued, "so the rest of the cruise ol' Gibbs was known as 'Sinker', did he ever tell you that story?"

Silence.

After a moment Nielsson continued, "When we finally got to that island somewhere in the Caribbean to practice beach assaults, what was the name of that place, do you remember Gibbs?"

"No Bill, can't say I do."

"Well whatever, Gibbs was the first to hit the beach, you can betcher ass he was the first down the bow ramp. I heard he got down on his hands and knees and kissed the sand!"

Gibbs said quietly, "That didn't happen. Look Bill, we heard about your four agents going down at the hands of our only viable suspect..."

Nielsson interrupted again, "Now wait just a damn minute Jethro, those weren't my agents. Everybody at ACSIT received the warnings from Major Finn's outfit, we were supplying backup and surveillance as requested."

"So who were they then?" asked Gibbs.

"They were from the Little Creek office, they had just got back from the Inter-Agency Counter-Intelligence Conference in Washington, and saw the update that went out, you saw it too, right? Anyway, they took it upon themselves to try and arrest this Drusilla person."

Gibbs thought about asking Nielsson why he hadn't warned other NCIS offices, especially since Little Creek and the Norfolk office were only a few miles apart, but finally decided it would be pointless.

"And besides," Nielsson continued, "what do you mean 'only viable suspect'? We've got lot's of leads, I have more than fifty Special Agents, ten Investigators, four Marine NCIS Special Agents, as well as fifty support personal at ACSIT and I assure you everybody is working hard to develop leads! I just can't figure out what to do with you folks from Washington."

"We're here primarily for the Lilly Hornsby case, plus we have another case, the Yarro murder, which could be connected to your investigation, but we don't know for sure. Therefore, we simply want to coordinate our efforts, make certain we aren't duplicating anything, until we've developed enough evidence to determine whether it is or isn't part of your case. At that time, we will either hand it to you, or continue on independently, depending on what the facts dictate."

"Yeah, right, you just want to horn in on the biggest murder investigation NCIS has handled in years!"

"No Bill, that's the difference between you and me, I just want to put criminals in prison; nothing else matters to me. Now, who in your ACSIT will be our liaison so we can compare notes?"

--- ---

As they left, some twenty minutes later, Gibbs muttered, "I hated that blowhard when he was a Navy Lieutenant, and now he's even a bigger asshole than he used to be. If I had to work for him I'd have to retire just to keep from shooting myself."

"Don't worry boss," said DiNozzo, "we won't repeat that story." Tony's assurances were a little offset by the muffled laughter that escaped his throat.

Ziva said, "Just tell me how many weeks you want him stuck in the hospital and I'll make certain he gets the necessary injuries, anonymously of course."

"Thanks for the thought Ziva, but that won't be necessary. Well, we all have embarrassing stories from our youth, and now you've heard mine, and we'll never speak of it again, right? What's that, I don't hear anything..."

"Right boss," said Tony.

"You got it, never again," said Ziva.

"Nope, that's the last time, you can count on us boss," said Tim.

"I'd better. One thing you can bet on is that Bill Nielsson spends most of his waking hours thinking about how to advance his career, and not many hours trying to solve crime. Remember that when we deal with him."

"I have some experience in working around overly officious bureaucrats," said Willow, "which surely describes your friend Bill."

Gibbs was startled when he realized that Willow Rosenberg was still with them. He frowned as he thought back and tried to figure out whether she had been there the entire time, or had just wandered back. "I'll keep that in mind."

--- ---

NCIS Special Agent at Sea Robert Hafele, on board the USS Stout, DDG 55, walked up to the bridge in answer to a summons from the Captain. It was a beautiful day, plenty of sunshine, scattered clouds, a fresh breeze that was neither too hot nor too cold, but the waves and especially the swells were the remains of a severe storm that was still blowing itself out many miles to the north. So the ship was lively, bouncing up and down like an over-excited puppy with the bow wave looking like a bone in its teeth. They'd been been cruising long enough for everyone on board to have gained their sealegs and settle down to the work and pace of life at sea.

Except today the whole crew was buzzing about the dead machinist's mate found that morning in the paint locker. Up until then, they had been looking forward to a couple of weeks in port after exercises in the North Atlantic which had been about as grueling as such things could be without being for real. The Stout had stopped for a brief port of call at the Washington Navy Yard, and was finally on the way to her home port in Norfolk.

Just as Hafele stepped onto the bridge, the Quartermaster of the Watch announced on the 1MC, "_Now hear this, all hands to Special Sea and Anchor detail._" Hafele was nearly bowled over by sailors rushing past in both directions. After the rush, he stepped over to the Captain's chair and asked, "You wanted to see me Captain Decker?"

The position of an NCIS agent at sea presented some peculiar etiquette problems, since he was a civilian and not in the chain of command, and yet had the power of arrest and detention over potentially anyone on the ship. In practice, he didn't arrest anyone unless he had damn good reason, and was careful to keep the Captain informed of his progress. The complications were enhanced further by the fact that this wasn't the ship he was normally assigned to; Hafele was from the USS Bataan, LHD-5, the flagship of the small amphibious assault group. Hafele had been dropped off by helicopter earlier in the day, shortly after the gruesome discovery.

Captain Decker asked, "Have you finished questioning my crew?" He didn't sound particularly enthused about Special Agent Hafele, but he was probably just pissed about the whole situation.

"No sir, we're going to be met in Norfolk by more NCIS agents as well as forensics technicians, the crew will have to be questioned, but I have been able to narrow our focus. I think most will be able to go about their business in just a few hours."

"But not everyone," the Captain said flatly.

"No sir, not everyone. And with a little luck, we will find our murderer. You understand sir, that as soon as we tie up to the pier this investigation is out of my hands, whoever Washington sent will be in charge."

Captain Decker nodded as he looked through his binoculars out to the horizon.

A watchstander announced, "Sea buoy off the starboard bow, zero two zero relative."

"Look at that," said Captain Decker to Hefele, "we sighted the outer buoy just five minutes after the prediction and no one's excited. Back when I was an Ensign, if we sighted the sea buoy within two hours of the predicted time, everybody congratulated each other on a superb navigational feat. GPS has ruined the thrill of ocean navigation."

Agent Hafele reflected on the thrill of getting lost at sea, but choose not to voice the thought.

The Captain ordered, "Come right to two eight five true. Reduce speed to twelve knots."

The helmsman replied, "Two eight five, aye."

The lee helmsman replied, "Twelve knots, aye."

The Captain turned to Agent Hafele to ask another question when the helmsman reported a little breathlessly, "Sir, helm does not respond!"

"Repeat your last sailor," the Captain asked quietly but intensely.

"The helm does not respond, sir."

Captain Decker jumped off his command chair and looked over the shoulder at the helmsman's control panel. He turned to a watchstander and said, "Call After-Steering."

The watchstander said, "After-Steering, Bridge, report," over his sound powered phone set. After a couple of repeats he said to the captain, "No reply sir, nothing at all from After-Steering."

The Captain ordered, "All Stop! Rudder amidships, if it responds. Chief, get down to after steering. Agent Hafele, go with the Chief Quartermaster, perhaps you can find someone who's arrest would improve my disposition."

As the Special Agent and the Chief Quartermaster ran down the ladder, Hafele could hear the captain shouting out more orders, but the sound was cut off as the door closed behind him. It sounded as if the Captain was steaming mad.

It took only a couple of minutes to get back to the after-steering compartment, they could hear the Captain on the 1MC ordering Damage Control back there, so it was no surprise to find two or three other sailors in front of them, all rushing through the engineering spaces, past the gas turbines and down a small access hatch into an area of the ship that Hafele had never been, never even knew existed. They finally ended up in a small compartment surrounded by large hydraulic machinery that directly controlled the twin rudders. Everyone had stopped suddenly in front of Hafele, he edged between a couple of DC's and looked down at another dead body. Just like the other one, a ragged neck wound was the apparent cause of death.

"Anybody know why the rudder isn't responding? A dead sailor shouldn't have affected anything here," the Chief Quartermaster remarked callously.

One of the Damage Control Technicians was rooting around behind the machinery and said, "Blown circuit breaker Chief, let's see if this'll fix it." There was a click as he reset the breaker and the hydraulic pumps activated. Everyone checked to make certain they were clear of any moving parts. But something started sparking and circuit breakers flipped off again. The Chief picked up the abandoned sound powered telephone headset and reported to the bridge. Agent Hafele wondered what the weird symbols written in blood on the bulkhead meant.

--- ---

A report came over McGee's desk from the USS Stout. He read it and swore softly, picked up the phone and called Gibbs. "Boss, there's been two more murders, dead sailors on the USS Stout, at sea. Right now the ship is outside Chesapeake Bay, but they're dead in the water, some kind of engineering casualty. There's an NCIS Agent aboard, and he's requesting backup, a full team including forensics, ASAP. I think the second killing has him worried."

"What's that got to do with us? Surely Little Creek would have jurisdiction," said Gibbs.

"Yeah, well, Little Creek's agents are dead or in the hospital, but more importantly, the wounds on both of these murders are consistent with the Yarro case, and the Stout's last port was right here in the Navy Yard, just down the street."

Gibbs answered, "Hell, OK, we'll helicopter out there from Little Creek. Go talk to the director. And McGee, don't let anything go out to ACSIT, I want to treat 'em like mushrooms."

"Mushrooms?"

"Feed 'em shit and keep 'em in the dark."

"Ah, sure boss."

"But make sure the paperwork is correct. And McGee, issue temporary ID's for Buffy Summers, Dr. Dawn Summers, and Willow Rosenberg as consulting forensic investigators, and tell DiNozzo how to print out the ID cards here in the Little Creek office."

"Oh no," said Willow, "well yes really, Dawn needs something, but Buffy and I have our own Department of Defense identification, courtesy of Major Riley's department. And they showed Gibbs their IDs.

He yelled into his phone, "Just for Dr. Dawn Summers then. And get back to me ASAP about that helicopter ride." Gibbs paused in thought for a moment, then added, "Wait, what kind of ship is it?"

"Uh, a Guided Missile Destroyer, assigned to escort the USS Bataan, LHD-5, whatever that is, boss."

"Amphibious Assault ship, sort of a half vast carrier, give me the Agent's name and cell phone number, we'll get a ride faster from the ship."

Two hours later they landed on the flight deck of the Stout, just ahead of another smaller and altogether sleeker looking black helicopter. After the first helicopter was tucked into the ship's hanger, the other landed and Riley stepped towards them and greeted the emerging men, all of whom were dressed in sinister black uniforms devoid of any insignia, carrying a variety of lethal looking weapons. A few sailors engaged in tying down the aircraft stared at the five armed soldiers curiously.

Buffy got Gibbs attention and said, "We need to get moving while the corpse is still fresh. I've got an itch Agent Gibbs, let's go, the sooner the better."

Gibbs nodded but turned towards Riley and asked, "Major, who are these soldiers?"

"My men sir, we're here to back you up."

"What the hell are you expecting? A bunch of sailors hepped up on dope, murdering left and right? I mean seriously, what is this?"

Riley, pausing to puzzle out the word 'hepped', had to think a moment beyond that to come up with a plausible explanation. "What I think might happen is, uh, classified. And with luck we won't be needed, we're just here to back you up, just in case, like," he tailed off unconvincingly.

"Major Riley, this is a crime situation, not an invasion, I think you can send your soldiers home and let NCIS handle it—it is our job after all."

"Uh, no sir, sorry, but you're stuck with us until I don't think we're needed anymore."

"Make a hole! Make a hole!" someone yelled as a half-dozen sailors carrying supplies from the helicopter pushed through the group of civilians. Buffy and Dawn stepped smartly back to clear the way.

"Damn it," said Buffy impatiently, "let's move, or I'm just gonna wander around 'till I find something that needs killing!"

Agent Hafele stood nearby listening to this exchange with fascination, all the while checking out Buffy with quick sideways glances. He finally interrupted, "Agent Gibbs? I'm SAaS Hafele."

Gibbs said to Hafele, "These are forensics consultants to NCIS, Ms. Buffy Summers, Dr. Dawn Summers and Ms. Willow Rosenberg. And this is Major Riley who is stuck to me like a barnacle for some reason known only to the Pentagon, and is just as hard to pry off."

Riley stood by impassively.

"It's amazing," observed Willow while holding tight to a metal handrail, "that a ship this big can still bob around this much."

Buffy stood ten feet from the nearest solid handhold, her knees bent slightly with her ankles doing all the adjustment necessary to keep her standing straight while the ship rocked slowly beneath her feet. Hafele looked at her and said, "Hmm, I guess you've done this before."

Buffy replied, "This is the first time I've ever been on a ship that wasn't tied up at a dock."

Dawn said disgustedly, "Of course, SlayBuffy has perfect balance in all situations."

Ziva glanced at Dawn with surprise and then looked at Buffy speculatively.

"Oh don't worry Dr. Summers," said Agent Hafele, "you'll get your sealegs in no time at all, you're young and athletic, you'll see, it's just a matter of your inner ear getting used to the motion."

Dawn promptly slipped and and stumbled against a Navy Lieutenant who was hovering anxiously near the group. He didn't seem at all put out at finding Dawn in his arms. Buffy commented to Willow, "I guess there's an advantage to being clumsy after all."

Hafele helped Dawn to her feet said, "This is a gorgeous day, the ship is rolling a little more than usual, but still, it's beautiful out here!"

Gibbs tilted his head towards the women with him and said gruffly, "I gave them some Dramamine, they'll be all right. Now, Ziva and Tony, take Buffy Summers with you and check out the most recent crime scene, I understand the body has yet to be moved?"

"No, we had to pull him aside to allow repairs on the machinery, the Captain is anxious to get going again. But I did take a full set of pictures before anything was moved."

"Didn't you tell the Captain that it was a crime scene, and could not be disturbed?" asked Gibbs.

"Yeah he tried," said a wry voice from behind Gibbs, "but the safety of the ship takes precedence Agent Gibbs, we must have steering."

Gibbs turned and said angrily, "It was a crime scene Captain, and now you've compromised it! You know that the USS Gripper is on her way out to take you in tow, you could have waited!"

"No way Agent Gibbs, and I'll take it all the way up to SECNAV if I have to! Tug or no tug, crime or no crime, it's my duty to repair the ship if at all possible!"

Gibbs backed down since the argument had been lost before he came on board. Besides, he reflected to himself, the real reason had to be that Captain Decker would have felt professionally embarrassed to have his ship towed in to Norfolk in front of his fellow captains and worse, the Admiral.

--- ---

Gibbs, Willow, and Dawn had followed the Lieutenant to a large but cramped berthing compartment where they were engaged in looking through the contents of the dead Machinist's Mate's cordoned off combination bunk and locker. There wasn't anything unexpected. Dawn asked plaintively with her nose crinkled up, "What is that smell?"

Willow inhaled deeply and replied authoritatively, "Concentrated essence of male."

"Willow," said Dawn with a frown, "it smells gross in here, why are you sniffing the air with a big grin?"

"Oh," she fluttered, "sometimes I just suck at this lesbo stuff."

Dawn smiled at her, the Lieutenant looked askance, a female petty officer passing by doubled over in laughter, Gibbs ignored them all.

"All right, let's go check out the paint locker," said Gibbs.

A few minutes later they were studying the corpse. The paint locker hadn't been disturbed since no one was inclined to argue that painting anything could be an emergency, so someone had just locked the door. Dawn and Willow studied the scene with experienced eyes, but they said nothing. Gibbs took samples, but he was feeling a little useless, there just wasn't much to add the report he had already seen. "Any comments Dr. Summers?"

"No, let's go look at the other one." On the way aft they could hear the turbines revving up and the ship started moving forward. As she steadied on a new course the motion of the ship settled down to a more regular rocking motion instead of the random up and down from sitting dead in the water.

The Lieutenant escorting them said, "Huh, they must of got the rudder repaired, that was fast."

As they passed an open compartment they heard someone say, "...holy hell, you shoulda seen the size of that turd! It was..."

An open hatch to the deck the deck below produced, "...you dummy! That's cosine, not sine! Stupid fuck! Crap like that could be..."

Eventually they made it to the After Steering compartment and found little to see besides the aft bulkhead. They stood cautiously clear of the hydraulic rams and massive cast iron levers that were moving slowly and irregularly back and forth. Gibbs asked Dawn, "What does that say?" Pointing to the blood smeared writing on the bulkhead.

Dawn looked at it and said, "Well, this is Latin, but a slightly out of date usage, the Latin someone might have learned in a Catholic church a couple of hundred years ago. It says something like _'How dare you defy me, your blood is mine!_', more or less, plus something about somebody named Edith." Dawn turned and continued, "Well, that was anti-climactic. Look, it's the end of the first dogwatch, can we get something to eat? I'm hungry."

Everyone looked at her in surprise. Dawn said, "Hey, I still read you know."

"Yeah," asked Willow, "but when? We were called out here on a moment's notice. And what's a dogwatch?"

"Well actually," Dawn replied, "I saw it in a Patrick O'Brien novel." She turned to the Lieutenant who's sole duty appeared to be following them around and asked, "But they still have dogwatches, don't they?"

"You bet doc, sailors get twitchy when they miss supper. We can eat in the Wardroom, c'mon."

Gibbs, more surly than usual, said, "We don't have time to eat. Dr. Summers, I want you to translate this properly, Ms. Rosenberg, you are a qualified crime scene technician, right? I saw that on your background papers."

"Yes, but you've already taken samples and this crime scene was disturbed beyond analysis."

"Never mind that, just get to work, see if anything was missed."

Ziva popped in and said, "Gibbs, we found some female sailors who told us there's a stranger on board this vessel."

"A ringer? Someone in uniform no one knows?"

"Yeah boss, she was noticed at first because of her waist length hair—decidedly non-regulation. Riley and his men are sweeping through the machinery spaces, that being were she was last spotted. Buffy is wandering around in front of Riley, acting as bait I guess."

"No," said Willow, "Buffy is the big gun, Riley and his guys are beating the underbrush to flush out the quarry."

--- ---

Buffy chased Drusilla through the engine room, jumping from catwalk to catwalk, barely missing steam pipes, electrical lines, and other gear bolted here and there. A group of firemen watched them with an air of Twilight Zone wonder. Drusilla finally popped up through an emergency hatch into the open air and turned to confront Buffy, squeezing through the opening as fast as she could squirm.

"Damn," Buffy said as she took in late evening, "the suns down!"

Drusilla replied, "I may be pure and fair and my head isn't always here, but I know when the light of death falls below the horizon." She swayed and waved her long blood-red fingernails in front of Buffy's eyes.

Buffy said, "Don't try that hypnosis crap with me, Drusilla, it won't work," and gracefully kicked Dru in the stomach; she flew backwards into a large davit, she landed on the deck with her legs splayed ungainly. Dru flipped herself up and ran towards Buffy, screaming, "Slayer! You'll get yours! When the stars align my pet and I will take over your world and we'll swizzle and twirl the dance of the dark!"

"What the hell does that mean you crazy bitch?" Buffy replied along with two left jabs and solid right.

"You'll know." And she punctuated the statement with a roundhouse that was almost too fast to see. They starting trading blows and strikes along the deck until Drusilla leaped up and onto one of the boats that took up most of the space on the main deck amidships, just forward of the Phalanx weapons system. Drusilla waited on the boat watching Buffy with a reptilian glare; jumping to join her would leave Buffy exposed for a vital few seconds, so she jumped to the top lifeline and danced along the swaying wire without slowing, the ocean below her on one side, the boat hull on the other. Gibbs watched from the midships deckhouse side deck; he stopped breathing as he watched Buffy run along the swaying wire lifeline without pausing. Much to his amazement, Drusilla leaped off the workboat to confront Buffy. Drusilla jumped _to the wire_ and in an almost simultaneous move, swept her leg around to kick Buffy. Buffy ducked, squatting down in a move that put one leg out over the waves and her arms stretched the other direction to keep her balance. When Drusilla's booted foot passed over her head, she immediately leaped up and tried a hand strike to Drusilla's jaw. All the while, both women were riding with ship, their legs pumping up and down and their ankles and feet twisting this way and that to keep their balance.

It was difficult to see the fight for they were right on the edge of the ship, hidden from view in all directions except from the starboard bridge wing and a small sliver of the fantail and from the aft stacks just above the ship's boats; nevertheless, they had a small audience of astonished sailors who watched hypnotized as the two danced to keep their balance and try to kill each other at the same time.

Someone turned on the worklights as the evening dimmed, but only a sliver of light fell on the combatants who were mostly in deep shadows against the very dark blue sky. The sun was behind dark clouds on the far horizon, occasionally an errant ray would flash momentarily on the combatants. Drusilla ducking wildly to keep the sunlight away while Buffy tried to maneuver Dru into the ray.

Agent David stood on the deck forward of the boats, her gun was up and she was attempting to aim at Drusilla. But between the rocking deck and the bad light, she didn't feel she had a good shot, at least not good enough to be certain to miss Buffy. So she stood ready to shoot if the circumstances changed.

Buffy leaped, landed on her toe and pirouetted, catching Drusilla with one fist to the shoulder and with the heel of her boot. As her foot twisted on the swaying lifeline, her boot slipped downwards until her heel caught the wire, the watchers collectively gasped. Then Drusilla kicked Buffy in the leg and stepped backwards towards the helicopter deck. After several more traded blows and some world-class gymnastics, a loud metallic crack rang out in the rapidly deepening dusk.

The pintle housing on one rudder had broken catastrophically. The rudder swung uncontrolled to one side causing the rear half of the ship to jink sideways. Apparently, whatever problem the Stout had with the rudder still was not fixed. Drusilla and Buffy both slipped off the wire as the ship skidded a foot or so sideways; as Buffy fell she caught the lowest lifeline and elegantly flipped herself over the top lifeline and back on deck. But Drusilla fell into the sea. Buffy, and a number of other sailors rushed to the side and looked below. But no one could see her. Buffy started to climb up to dive in after Drusilla, but Ziva caught her hand and said softly, "Don't Buffy, _you_ can't breathe underwater." Buffy glanced at Ziva with concern, but didn't say anything. After a moment she stepped back to the deck.

"_Man Overboard! Man Overboard! This is NOT a drill, Man Overboard!_" rang out throughout the ship from the 1MC. There were some unusual and very loud clanking noises from aft as the helmsman tried to steer. Then the prop pitch was reversed and the ship started shaking as they came to a stop, the water boiling furiously under the fantail and pushing out from the sides of the hull, and the ship came to a stop and starting sliding backward. Finally the engines were stopped and the ship was dead in the water.

Buffy said quietly, "Huh, _man_ overboard—_so_ not the case."

--- ---

By the time the USS Gripper rendezvoused with the Stout, it was full night and the outgoing tide had pushed them further out to sea. It took a few more hours to properly prepare the Stout for towing and then the tow was a real bitch because the Stout kept going sideways. Eventually, the deck force were able to tie off their errant rudder and the tow settled down.

But it wasn't until well after dawn when they finally made it back to the Norfolk Navy Yard. It took another hour with harbor tugs pushing fussily this way and that until they were finally tied up at a concrete pier underneath a large swiveling gantry crane.

Dawn, Buffy and Willow watched from the bridge. Dawn asked, "How come it takes so long for anything to happen? I mean, if this were the movies we would have been here last night in plenty of time for dinner and a show in town! And they would be pumping water out of the drydock so the ship could be fixed before lunch."

Willow laughed.

Gibbs overheard and said, "Everything involving ships takes far longer than seems reasonable. It's just how it goes when you're moving around this many tons of steel."

Dawn didn't think much of the explanation, feeling that things were not well organized, but she kept her mouth shut.

A radioman came onto the bridge looking for Gibbs. Gibbs read the message and cursed, "God damn it to hell!"

Buffy raised her eyebrows and asked, "What is it?"

"We're to report back to Washington, the case has been closed. But we haven't found Lilly Hornsby's killer yet! No way am I going to take this lying down!'

It was a glum NCIS crew that walked down the ship's brow to the pier. Gibbs mood was further darkened when he saw that Bill Nielsson was waiting for them. And Nielsson looked very angry.

"What the fuck did you think you were doing Gibbs?" he hissed apoplectically.

Gibbs didn't back down a inch, "My job of course, that's what I always do. What do you think is wrong with the outcome?"

"If you hadn't interfered, we could simply have removed her once the ship was tied up! No fuss, no muss!"

"Oh? You don't think another half-dozen or so dead sailor's would have mattered much?"

"I don't know what you're talking about! She was a woman! They could have overpowered her!"

--- ---

Back at NCIS in Washington, Gibbs said angrily, "So that's it? Case closed? Director, I think you are being premature."

"No, the file came down from the Secretary of the Navy, but it originated with Admiral Fitzsimmons, due to information received they are confident that Drusilla NLN was guilty of at least fourteen murders, and is now presumed dead thanks to the efforts of NCIS. There will be no further inquiries from this department. All evidence and paperwork to be forwarded to Major Finn at the Pentagon. Apparently, they will tie up any loose ends."

"But director, Drusilla wasn't the killer! Not of Lilly Hornsby, anyway. I suppose she was ACSIT's prime suspect. We still have an open case!"

"No, we don't. It's out of our hands and I don't want to hear another word!"

Epilogue:

Buffy and Dawn relaxed in the Agent's lounge at NCIS headquarters, while Willow was down in the labs talking up a storm with Abbey. Ziva came in and sat down. She looked at Buffy for a moment and finally asked, "So, you're the Slayer."

Buffy stared back. Dawn said, "What? No, you're crazy! That's just a myth!"

Buffy put her hand on Dawn's arm and said quietly, "It's all right Dawn, she already knows."

"Yeah," said Ziva, "Dawn let the cat out of the bag when she called you Slay-Buffy back on the ship. I'd heard the story before, and I've seen some things that force me to believe that vampires exist. But I never thought the Slayer was real, not until yesterday. That fight between you and Drusilla, that was supernatural—no one could balance on a wire life-line and fight like that!"

Buffy shrugged, "I didn't ask for it."

Ziva continued, "Do you really think Drusilla could have survived? Those waves were huge, it must have been thirty miles to shore and the tide was against her, how could she have made it?"

"Fall to the bottom and walk, I suppose, or maybe she knows how to swim. Or maybe she can just drift on the waves until the tide pushes her in, diving down during the day to escape the sun. Unless she got eaten by a shark, there's nothing out there to kill her. And no self-respecting shark would take more than one bite of a vampire."

"So we should be looking for her!"

"No, Riley's group will take care of her if she's still around, unless I find her first." said Buffy. "I hope you're not planning on putting any of this in a report or anything, are you?"

"Are you kidding me? I think they call that a Section Eight around here; it's not for this girl."

"What about Gibbs and your fellow agents?" asked Dawn.

"Nope, my lips are sealed."

"Good. One person you can talk to is Major Riley. But you shouldn't unless you want to get caught up in the demonic underworld. Riley would be the first to tell you, it's not a good way to advance your career—this stuff isn't just secret, it simply doesn't exist," said Buffy.

"OK," Ziva agreed, "but who, or should I say what, killed Lilly Hornsby?"

"A demon. A demon called by Drusilla. You see, Dru is a vampire, two hundred odd years old. But she was loony before being sired and she's even more whacked out today. She was trying to raise her great love from the dead. She found an old spell book and had sacrificed a half dozen vampires as well as those poor innocent people, but her spell failed. Mostly because she couldn't get an accurate translation."

"Yeah," added Dawn, "plus her great love isn't dead anymore, but she doesn't know that."

"Alllll riiiight," drawled Ziva, "a crazy vampire killed all these people for love. What about Lilly?"

"Oh, the demon she called, a Fyarl demon, not too bright, but big and strong and willing to maim and kill for food. Lilly was called as a Slayer, but she hadn't any training at all and proved to be no match for Drusilla and her pet Fyarl. Riley's boys cornered the demon right here in the Washington Navy Yard and disposed of it quietly. Unfortunately, they missed Drusilla who managed to hide out on a convenient ship. Which then promptly took off to Norfolk with a stowaway vampire, and you know the results of that little mixup."

"Do these Fyarls have tails?"

"Yeah, but usually just little stubby ones," said Buffy, "but I guess an old one could grow a longer one."

Dawn added, "Yeah, but the disgusting part is the spitting paralyzing mucus. Probably what slowed Lilly down—that would have caught her by surprise."

"We didn't find any strange substance on her."

"It evaporates in a few hours, you wouldn't have found any trace of it."

"Gibbs is going to spitting mad about this, and we can't even tell him what happened."

"I wouldn't if I was you."

The End

--- ---

Notes:

1) Dogwatches— the four to eight pm watch is split up in two dogwatches, four to six and six to eight, to allow time to eat supper. In one O'Brien novel, Dr. Maturin deadpanned that it was called '_a dogwatch because it had been cur-tailed_'. Captain Aubrey thought that was a capitol joke, and apparently, so does Dawn.

2) The catastrophic rudder failure that I described would be highly unlikely in reality, but I don't think it's completely impossible.

3) Here's a picture of a similar ship to the Stout, showing the area where Drusilla and Buffy fought along the lifeline between between the sea and the ship's boats. Just remove the excess spaces and replace the word dot with actual dots, and you're set: Http// macsnavylinks dot ca / macmodels / rossi dot jpg

4) The boats are usually stowed nearly on top of the lifeline, which would not allow enough room for anyone. But, we must assume that the boatswain's mates had moved them over in order to perform scheduled maintenance, thus allowing enough space for Buffy and Drusilla to fight.


End file.
